OF 
[E  KITCHEN 


FRENCH.  25  West  45tli  SU  New  York 


Come  Out  of  the 
Kitchen 

A  COMIEDY  IN  THREE  ACTS 


By 
A.  E.  THOMAS 

Based  on  the  Story  op  the  Same  Name  by  Alice  Duer 
Miller 


All  rights  reserved 


CAUTION  —  Professionals  and  amateura  are  hereby 
warned  that  "COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITOHBN," 
lieing  fully  protected  under  copyright  laws  of  the 
United  States,  Great  Britain  and  Canada,  is  subject 
to  a  royalty,  and  anyone  presenting  the  play  without 
the  consent  of  the  owners  or  their  authorized  agents 
will  be  liable  to  the  penalties  by  law  provided.  Appli- 
cations for  amateur  acting  rights  must  be  made  to 
Samuel.  French,  25  West  45th  Streeit,  New  York. 
Applications  for  professional  acting  rights  must  be 
made  to  Henry  Miller,  Henry  Miller's  Theatre,  125 
West  43rd  Street,  New  York. 


New  York 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 

Publisher 
25  West  45th  Street 


London 
SAMUEL  FRENCH,  Ltd. 
26  Southampton  Street 
„  — ,,^-       ,  STRAND 

natwtf  OR  tit!s  play  pay&UB  to  wn 
Los  Angeles  O&oe 

SAMUEL  FRENCH 

Fink  a^ts  bcdo..  811  wsesr  7th  Smgur 


"Come  Out  of  the  Kitchen** 

All  rights  reseirved 
Copyright,  1913,  by  the  International  Magazsne  Com- 
pany (Harper's  Bazar) 
Copyright,  1916,   (in  Novel  Form),  by  the  Century 
Company 
Copyright,  1921,  by  A.  E.  Thomas 

Especial  notice  should  be  taken  that  the  possession 
of  this  book  without  a  valid  contract  for  production 
first  having  been  obtained  from  the  publisher,  confers 
no  right  or  license  to  professionals  or  amateurs  to 
produce  the  play  publicly  or  in  private  for  gain  or 
charity. 

In  its  present  form  this  play  is  dedicated  to  the 
reading  public  only,  and  no  performance,  representa- 
tion, production,  recitation,  or  public  reading,  or  radio 
broadcasting  may  be  given  except  by  special  arrange- 
ment with  Samuel  French,  25  West  45th  Street,  New 
York. 

This  play  may  be  presented  by  amateurs  upon  pay- 
ment of  a  royalty  of  Twenty-five  Dollars  for  each  per- 
formance, payable  to  Samuel  French,  25  West  45th 
Street,  New  York,  one  week  before  the  date  when  the 
play  is  given. 

Whenever  the  play  is  produced  the  following  notice 
must  appear  on  all  programs,  printing  and  advertising 
for  the  play:  "Produced  by  special  arrangement  with 
Samuel  French  of  New  York." 

Attention  is  called  to  the  penalty  provided  by  law 
for  any  infringement  of  the  author's  rights,  as  fol- 
lows: 

"Section  4966: — Any  person  publicly  performing 
or  representing  any  dramatic  or  musical  composition 
for  which  copyright  has  been  obtained,  without  the 
consent  of  the  proprietor  of  said  dramatic  or  musical 
composition,  or  his  heirs  and  assigns,  shall  be  liable 
for  damages  thereof,  such  damages,  in  all  cases  to 
be  assessed  at  such  sum,  not  less  than  one  hundred 
dollars  for  the  first  and  fifty  dollars  for  every  sub- 
sequent performance,  as  to  the  court  shall  appear  to  be 
just.  If  the  unlawful  performance  and  representation 
be  wilful  and  for  profit,  such  person  or  persons  shall 
be  guilty  of  a  misdemeanor,  and  upon  conviction  shall 
be  imprisoned  for  a  period  not  exceeding  one  year."—- 
U.  S.  Revised  Statutes:  Title  60,  Chap.  3. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America  by 
The  Richmond  Hilu  Record.  Richmond  Hili..  N.X> 


The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  play-bill  of  the  first 
performance  of  "COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN,"  at 
the  George  M.  Cohan  Theatre,  New  York,  October  23, 
1916. 

GEORGE  M.   COHAN   THEATRE 

HENRY  MILLER 

PRESENTS 

RUTH    CHATTERTON 

With  Bruce  McRae  and  a  Strong  Cast 

IN 

COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

A  COMEDY  IN  THREE  ACTS 

BY 

A.  E.  THOMAS 

(Based  on  the  story  of  the   same  name  by  Alice  Duer 

Miller.) 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

Olivia  Dangerfield,  Alias  Jane  Ellen.. Rvrn  Chatterton 
Elizabeth  Dangerfield,  Alias  Araminta.  .Barbara  Milton 

Mrs.  Falkener,  Tucker's  Sister Marguerite  St.  John 

Cora   Falkener,  Her  Daughter Alice   Lindahl 

Amanda,  Olivia's  Black  Mawmy.. Mrs.  Charles  G.  Craig 

Burton  Crane,  From  the  North Bruce  McRae 

Thomas  Lefferts,  Statistical  poet Harry  Mestayer 

Solon  Tucker,  Crane's  Attorney  and  Guest — 

William  H.  Sams 
Paul  Dangerfield,  Alias  Smithfield .  .CiiAta.Es  Trowbridge 

Charles  Dangerfield,  Alias  Brindlebury Robert  Ames 

Randolph  Weeks,  Agent  of  the  Dangerfields — 

Walter  Connolly 

Time. — The  Present. 

Place. — The  Dangerfield  mansion  in  Virginia. 


2115034 


SYNOPSIS   OF   SCENES 

ACT  I.  Drawing-room  of  the  Dangerfield  man- 
sion. NOTE:  During  this  act  the 
curtain  will  be  lowered  for  ten  sec- 
onds to  indicate  the  passing  of  four 
hours'  time. 

ACT     II.     The  kitchen — afternoon — two  days  later- 

ACT  III.     The  dining-room — just  before  dinner  on 
the  same  day. 


Come  Out  of  the  Kitchen 


ACT   I 

Scene:  See  photograph.  Draiving-room  of  the 
Daingerfield  mansion — a  rather  stately,  big,  old 
family  homestead  of  the  typical  Virginia  coun- 
try sort.  There's  a  fireplace  at  r.,  two  windows 
at  L.  The  entrance,  l.c,  is  from  the  hall  at 
rear.  When  the  door  is  opened  the  foot  of  the 
staircase  is  seen.  All  the  furniture  and  appoint- 
ments, while  originally  high-class  and  still 
beautiful  in  their  simple  colonial  way,  show 
signs  of  long  use.  Over  the  fireplace  hangs,  on 
».  wall,  a  portrait  of  Grandfather  Daingerfield 
in  a  Lieutenanfs  uniform  of  the  Confederate 
States  of  America.  On  the  mantel  is  a  clock 
set  and  a  little  miniature  of  a  young  girl  in  the 
dress  of  1840.  It  is  beautifully  set  in  gold 
frame. 

At  Rise:  Elizabeth,  Charles  and  Paul  Dain- 
gerfield are  discovered.  Charlie  is  at  r.c. 
Elizabeth  is  wearing  her  hat  (seated  l.c  J  and 
a  walking-suit.  Paul  is  standing  c.  In  short, 
the  family  is  evidently  ready  for  departure. 
Paul  is  the  oldest  of  all  the  Daingerfield  chil- 
dren, being  about  twenty-four.  He  is  a  tall, 
7 


8  COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

slim,  grave  young  man,  thoughtful  but  with 
little  initiative^.  Elizabeth  is  a  year  or  so 
younger,  inclined  to  plumpness — not  a  bad  sort, 
but  a  little  sulky  by  nature.  Charlie  is  the 
youngest  of  the  group,  being  a  lad  of  scarcely 
seventetn,  quick-moving,  spirited  and  rather 
merry. 

After  the  curtain  rises,  the  three  are  silent  a 
moment.  Presently  Paul  looks  at  his  watch, 
evidently  expecting  someone. 

Charles  seated  chair  r.  c. 

Paul.  (Before  speaking,  moves  up  stage,  then 
down  again  c.)  Reckon  the  old  place  is  going  to 
miss  us?  (A  pause.)  Been  a  long  time  since  there 
weren't  any  Dangerfields  at  all  under  this  roof.  (A 
pause.)  Grandfather  Daingerfield  looks  a  little  re- 
proachful, doesn't  he?  Never  mind,  never  mind, 
old  boy.  Of  course,  it's  pretty  hard  being  left 
alone  in  the  old  house  with  a  confounded  Yankee 
millionaire,  but  after  all,  it's  only  for  six  weeks. 
So  for  Heaven's  sake,  cheer  up. 

Charley.     That's  the  idea,  Grand-dad.     That's 

the  idea,  but (Looks  at  painting  over  fireplace.) 

Well,  anyhow,  dear  Grandma  don't  look  so  grumpy. 
We're  not  leaving  you  for  long,  and  we  don't  like  it 
any  better  than  you  do — but  we  need  the  money. 

Paul.    Need  the  money !    I  should  say  we  do. 

Elizabeth.  (Breaking  her  rather  sullen  silence 
for  the  first  time)  I  don't  like  it.  I  don't  like  it  at 
all.     I've  said  so  from  the  beginning. 

Paul.  Heaven  knows  you  have,  Bess.  You've 
said  it  and  said  it  and  said  it  until  I'm  beginning  to 
get  sick  of  the  sound  of  your  voice. 

Elizabeth.  I  don't  believe  father  and  mother 
would  approve  of  it  for  a  moment. 

Paul.     (Seated  armchair  r.  of  table  R.)     Well, 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN  9 

we've  got  to  do  the  best  we  can.  If  poor  old  dad 
had  his  health  it  would  be  different.  Do  you  real- 
ize he  and  mother  have  been  abroad  almost  a  year? 

Charles.  (Coming  to  back  of  chair  c.)  Year 
next  week. 

Paul.  Traveling  around  from  Wiesbaden  to 
Marienbad  and  from  Marienbad  to  Carlsbad — and 
poor  dad  getting  worse  all  the  time. 

Charles.    Going  from  bad  to  worse,  so  to  speak. 

Elizabeth.  (Rises,  moves  up  c.)  Charlie,  how 
can  you  joke  about  such  a  thing? 

Charles.  (Turns  up  c,  stopping  her)  Sorry — 
I  didn't  mean  it.  I'd  give  my  right  arm  for  dad  if 
it  would  help  him,  and  you  know  it. 

Elizabeth.  (Crosses  to  l.  side  of  Paul  sud- 
denly, as  if  struck  by  a  brilliant  idea.)  Paul,  why 
can't  we  mortgage  the  place?  (Crosses  to  back  of 
table  R.) 

Charles.    Oh, (Laughs.) 

Paul.  (Laughs)  You  know  perfectly  well 
there's  a  mortgage  on  this  house  that  weighs  a  ton. 

Charles.  That's  why  it  leaks  so  when  it  rains. 
(Comes  down  and  sits  R.  of  table  L.) 

Paul.  When  this  house  was  built  they  put  a 
mortgage  on  it  before  they  put  the  roof  on.  And 
that  mortgage  got  married  and  raised  a  big  family 
and  they're  all  alive  still.  Randy  Weeks  told  me 
you  couldn't  raise  another  cent  on  this  place  to  save 
your  life. 

Elizabeth.  If  only  dad  hadn't  quarrelled  with 
Uncle  Jefferson ! 

Paul.  Yes,  I  know,  it's  bad  luck  that  dad  should 
have  fallen  out  with  the  only  Daingerfield  that  has 
a  cent,  but  he  did  and  now  Aunt  Josephine's  got 
to  take  us  in  out  of  the  wet  for  the  next  six  weeks, 
and  the  poor  old  dear  can't  afford  it,  either. 

E1.1ZABETH.    Well, — I  don't  like  it.    (Stamps  foetj 


lo        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

moves  to  back  of  chair  l.  of  table  to  Charlie.j  I 
don't  like  it.     I  say  it  again,  what  will  people  say? 

Paul.    What'll  they  say  if  we  don't  pay  our  bills? 

Charles.  Ah,  now,  Bess,  what's  the  use  of  kick- 
ing? It's  too  late  now,  anyhow,  and  think  of  the 
$5,000. 

Elizabeth.  $5,000  for  six  weeks!  Why,  Paul, 
the  man  must  be  crazy !  It's  bad  enough  to  rent  the 
place  to  a  Northerner — ^but  this  man's  evidently  a 
lunatic  as  well. 

Paul.  Not  at  all.  He's  just  a  rich  man  who 
doesn't  care  what  it  costs  him  so  long  as  he  gets 
what  he  wants.  And  just  now  he  wants  to  live  in 
an  old-fashioned  Southern  country  house  for  the 
next  six  weeks  in  the  height  of  the  hunting  season. 

Elizabeth.  (Moves  to  chair  l.  of  table  r.c.J 
Well,  I  don't  like  it. 

Charles.  (Rises.  Exasperated.  Goes  up  c.) 
Go  on  and  hate  it,  then.  Have  a  good  hate,  only 
for  heaven's  sake,  dry  up. 

Elizabeth.  You  know  perfectly  well  you  don't 
like  it  yourself.     (Sits  chair  l.  of  table.) 

Paul.    Of  course  we  don't — we  only (Rises 

and  goes  to  mantle.) 

Elizabeth,  (c.)  You  wouldn't  have  consented 
to  it  at  all  if  Olivia  hadn't  talked  you  into  it.  It's 
all  her  doing, 

Charles.  Well,  is  it  her  fault  if  Livy's  got  more 
sense  than  all  of  us  put  together?  Here's  father 
and  mother  abroad  fighting  for  father's  life  and  here 
we  are  at  home  dead  broke  and  not  one  of  us  got 
the  gumption  to  raise  a  dollar  till  Livy  up  and  shows 
us  the  way,  and  just  because  you  don't  think  it's 
dignified — (Goes  back  of  Elizabeth,  digging  her  in 
shoulder.  Elizabeth  exclaims.) — ^to  rent  the  old 
place,  you  sit  around  and  sob.     Dignified! 

Paul.     (Goes  to  Charlie  and  taps  him  on  r. 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        ii 

shoulder.)  Hush!  Charlie!  Hush!  That's  enough. 
(Turns  up  above  table  R.c.j 

Charles.  (Not  heeding  him,  moves  back  to 
mantel)  Of  course  it  ain't  dignified,  neither  is 
starving. 

Elizabeth.    Oh,  I  reckon  we  shouldn't  starve. 

Charles.  We'd  starve,  or  beg,  or  sponge.  Which 
would  you  rather  do? 

Elizabeth.    Well,  I  tell  you,  I  don't  think 

Charles.  (Throwing  up  his  hands)  Oh,  Bess, 
for  the  sake  of  heaven — please!  (Elizabeth  rises 
as  Olivia  enters.) 

(Enter  Olivia  at  rear.  This  is  the  third  Dainger- 
field  in  point  of  age,  being  a  year  or  two  older 
than  Charlie.  She  is  of  medium  height,  very 
slender  and  graceful,  with  blue-grey  eyes,  light 
hrotvn  hair  and  mobile  features.  She  is  clearly 
the  beauty  of  the  family — arch,  dainty,  piquant, 
a  bit  of  a  flirt,  humorous,  quick,  impulsive,  in 
short  a  distracting  young  person.  She,  like  the 
others,  is  dressed  for  going  away  and  is  just 
finishing  putting  on  her  gloves.) 

Charles.  (Up  R.c.j  Hello,  Livy.  Thank  the 
Lord,  you've  come! 

Olivia,     (c.)    What's  the  matter? 

Charles.  Sit  on  Bess,  for  heaven's  sake;  no- 
body else  can  do  it.     (Moves  to  golf  clubs,) 

Olivia.  What  is  it,  Bess?  (Comes  to  front  of 
table  L.C.J 

Elizabeth.  I  was  only  saying  what  I've  said  a 
dozen  times  before:  I  don't  like  turning  the  old 
place  over  to  a  strange  Yankee,  and  I  don't  think 
father  and  mother  would  approve,  either. 

Olivia.  (Crossing  to  Bess.j  No,  dear,  I  reckon 
they   wouldn't.     I   reckon   they   don't  approve  of 


12        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

earthquakes.  Are  you  all  ready?  (Goes  to  l.c.  to 
back  of  table  l.cJ 

Paul.  Just  waiting  for  Jack  Curley  to  turn  up 
with  his  wagon-load  of  servants.  (Goes  up  r.)  I 
thought  he  could  take  us  back  to  town  on  his  re- 
turn trip.  We'd  only  have  an  hour  to  wait  for  the 
up  train  and  will  get  to  Aunt  Josephine's  for  din- 
ner, (Closes  door,  then  down  c.  over  to  R.  of 
Olivia  J 

Elizabeth.  That's  another  thing.  I  wouldn't 
mind  leaving  the  place  so  much  if  we  were  going  to 
leave  it  in  the  care — (Meeting  Olivia,  who  comes 
to  her,  -L.c.) — of  our  blessed  old  darkies,  but  this 
turning  it  over  to  four  white  servants  from  Wash- 
ington— persons  we've  never  seen  in  all  our  lives — 
well ! 

Paul.  (Crosses  to  mantle)  Oh,  they're  all  right. 
They've  the  best  of  recommendations. 

Elizabeth.  Well,  all  I've  got  to  say  is  that  any 
Yankee  who  doesn't  know  that  Virginia  negroes  are 
the  best  servants  in  the  world  has  a  lot  to  learn. 

Olivia.  Yes,  dear.  (Then  she  adds,  obviously  to 
create  a  diversion)  I  don't  think  your  hat  is  quite 
straight. 

Elizabeth.  Humph!  (However,  she  goes 
promptly  to  the  nearest  mirror,  l.  betzveen  windows.) 

Charles.  (Coming  to  back  of  chair)  Bess  makes 
me  sick.  You'd  think  to  hear  her  talk  that  the  rest 
of  us  had  been  sitting  up  nights  trying  to  find  some 
way  to  drag  the  family  honor  in  the  dust,  and 

Olivia.  (Seizing  his  hand  and  inspecting  the 
fingers  closely)    What's  this? 

Charles.     What  ? 

Olivia.    Cigaretes  again! 

Charles.  (Chagrined)  Well,  I  can't  help  it. 
(Goes  up  R.c.    Olivia  follows  up  a  bit.) 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN         13 

(Enter  Amanda  at  rear.  This  is  a  short,  fat,  typi- 
cal old  negro  mammy,  formerly  Olivia's  nurse 
and  absolutely  devoted  to  her.  She  carries  a 
small  bag  that  bears  Olivia's  initials.  She  is 
evidently  much  depressed.) 

Amanda.     Honey  child 

Olivia.    Well,  Mandy! 

Amanda.  Here's  youah  little  grip  sack,  Miss 
Livy. 

Olivia.    Set  it  down  by  the  door,  please. 

Amanda.  Ya'as,  Miss  Livy.  (Puts  bag  on  chair 
L.  of  c.  door  and  drops  apron  and  duster.) 

Olivia.    Have  all  the  others  gone? 

Amanda,  (Turning  c.)  Ya'as,  Miss  Livvy.  Dey 
all  done  gone. 

Olivia.     Sam  and  Wash  and  Jeff  and  Liza? 

Amanda.  (A  step  c.  to  Oliviaj  Ya'as,  Miss 
Livy,  all  of  'em. 

Olivia.  You  understand,  now,  you're  all  to  stay 
at  the  cabins  until  you're  sent  for. 

Amanda.    Ya'as  'm. 

Olivia.  You're  not  to  come  within  half  a  mile 
of  the  house — not  one  of  you — ^you  understand? 

Amanda.  Miss  Livy,  honey  child,  how — ^how 
long  dish  yer  banishin'  gwine  fob  to  las'? 

Olivia.    About  six  weeks. 

Amanda.  Ain'  I  done  gwine  foh  to  see  you-all 
fob  six  weeks? 

Paul.  (Crosses  down  r.,  leans  on  mantel)  No, 
Mandy,  we're  all  going  to  stay  with  Aunt  Josephine. 

Amanda.     Mighty  funny,  Ah  calls  it — ^mighty — 

Olivia.      (Reproving  her)     Mandy! 

Amanda.    Ya'as  'm.    (A  pause.) 

Olivia.  (Going  to  her)  You  mustn*t  worry, 
Mandy,  we'll  all  be  back  soon. 


14        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Amanda.  (Drazving  Olivia's  head  down  to  her 
capacious  bosom)    Oh,  Honey!     My  li'l  lady  baby. 

Olivia.  There,  there,  you  old  dear,  it's  all  right 
— it's  all  right.  There,  now — there — you  just  run 
along — and  don't  forget  to  feed  my  doves. 

Amanda.  No'm,  Ah  ain'  gwine  fergit  nothin'. 
(Going.) 

Olivia.  Good-bye,  Mandy,  good-bye.  Don't  you 
worry,  now. 

Amanda,  (c.)  No,  Miss  Livy,  I  ain't  goin' 
worry  needer — but  all  I  got  to  say  is — dish  yer 
Yankee  man  he  mus'  be  funny  Yankee  man — don't 
want  niggahs  round  w'en  his  folks  all  done  come 
down  here  fob  to  sot  us  free.  An'  oh,  Miss  Livy,  I 
ain'  gwine  let  you  go  widout  me.     I  jus'  cain't  do  it ! 

Paul.  (Sternly,  at  l.  corner  of  fireplace) 
Mandy ! 

Amanda,  (c.  Turns  to  Oliviaj  Yes,  sir.  Ah 
ain'  nevah  been  'way  fum  yer  befoh,  not  since  you 
was  a  li'l  baby  what  I  could  lif  wid  one  finger. 
W'en  you-all  went  to  New  Yawk  wid  yoh  paw  an* 
maw,  didn'  I  go'  long  too?  W'en  you-all  was  in 
Washin'ton  w'en  yoh  was  makin'  all  dem  big  laws, 
in  the  White  House,  didn'  I  go'  long  too  ?  Wha'  fob 
cain't  I  go  wid  you  dis  time,  too? 

Olivia,  (r.  of  Amanda  j  I've  told  you,  Mandy. 
Aunt  Josephine's  hardly  got  room  in  her  little  hovel 
for  us.  There  wouldn't  be  any  place  for  you. 
(Goes  to  l.  of  chair,  sitting  on  arm.) 

Amanda.  Listen,  honey,  listen.  Ah  doan  tak* 
up  much  room.  (All  laugh.)  Ah'd  jes'  as  soon 
sleep  on  de  flo'. 

Olivia.  (Kindly  but  firmly)  Mandy,  that's 
enough.     It's  all  settled.     (Goes  to  Mandy.) 

Amanda.  Oh,  Ah  doan'  want  to  leave  you,  Miss 
Livy.     I  doan'  want  to  leave  mah  li'l  lady  baby. 

Olivia.     Now,  don't  be  silly,  Mandy.     (Taking 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN         15 

her  hands.)  It's  all  right.  I'll  soon  be  back.  Now, 
honey,  you  run  along.  (Pushes  Amanda  and  moves 
L.  to  above  chair  r.  of  table  l.c.  Looks  at  minia- 
tures, then  sits  chair  l.c.  J 

Amanda.  I'm  gwine.  Oh,  Miss  Livy.  (Goes  a 
few  steps.  All  turn.)  Ah  done  hab  a  terrible  bad 
dream  las'  night — ah 

Olivia.  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Get  along  with  you. 
You're  always  having  bad  dreams.  Run  now, — I 
mean  it ! 

Amanda.     (Going)     Yas,  Miss  Livy.     But  dish 

yer  dream  Ah  done  hab  las'  night (Coming 

down.) 

Olivia.  Run  now,  I  mean  it.  Don't  you  forget 
a  thing  I've  told  you. 

Amanda.  I  cain't  forget  nuthin'.  I  never  forget 
nuthin'.  (Takes  letter  from  skirt  pocket.  Laughs.) 
Oh,  I  clean  forgot  dis  here  letter  what  Sam  got  over 
at  de  post-office  dis  morning.  But  I  never  forgits 
nuthin',  honey  .  .  .  never.  (Amanda  laughs  and 
exits.    Charlie  closes  door  after  Amanda'.?  exit.) 

Elizabeth.    What's  your  letter? 

Olivia.  (At  chair  l.c.  Looking  at  it  for  the 
first  time.)  Why,  it's  from  mother.  (Crosses  to 
armchair  r.c.  and  sits.  The  others  crowd  eagerly 
about  her.) 

Charles.  Where's  it  from?  (Coming  down  to 
Olivia's  l.  shoulder.) 

Olivia.    (Who  has  torn  it  open)    Vienna. 

Paul.  What's  she  say?  (Sitting  on  back  of 
table,  leaning  ever  Olivia,  j 

Elizabeth.  How's  father?  (Brings  chair  from 
L.  and  sits  on  the  left  side  of  Olivia.j 

Olivia.    (Beginning  to  read) 

Vienna,  Oct.  23d. 
My  Darlings : 
You  will  doubtless  be  anxious  to  hear  how  your 


i6        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

father  and  I  are  faring  in  this  strange  land.  You 
must  have  already  received  my  last  letter  written  on 
the  day  of  our  arrival.  Well,  since  then,  your  father 
has  been  examined  by  the  specialists  at  the  hospital. 
I  ought  not  to  conceal  from  you  that  they  think  his 
condition  very  serious.  In  short,  they  think  an 
operation  is  the  only  chance.  But  it  will  not  be  for 
a  fortnight  yet,  as  they  want  to  build  up  his  strength. 
And  now  some  business. 

(Olivia  pauses  in  the  reading  and  gulps  down  a 
lump  in  her  throat.  The  others  also  show  their 
grief.    Presently  she  goes  on.) 

Paul,     Business ? 


Olivia.  — some  business.  Enclosed  is  your 
father's  check  for  $2,895.  Ask  Paul  to  send  it  at 
once  (that's  underlined),  at  once  to  John  R.  Charles, 
Washington  agent  of  the  New  York  Life  Ins.  Com- 
pany. Your  father  hasn't  the  address,  but  you  will 
find  it  in  the  top  drawer  of  his  desk  in  the  library. 
Don't  fail  in  this — because  if  things  should — because 
if  things  should — if  things  should  go  wrong, — the  in- 
surance money  would  at  least  keep  us  all  together 
for  a  little  time  to  come.  And  now,  my  dears,  don't 
worry  too  much.  We  are  all  in  God's  hands.  Your 
father  suffers  little  pain.  He  sends  his  love  to  all 
of  you — and  so  do  I.  I  will  send  you  a  cable  when 
the  time  comes,  God  bless  and  keep  you  all,  my 
dears.    Mother. 

(A  pause  follows  the  reading  of  the  letter,  while  the 
little  group  struggle  dmnbly  with  their  sorrow. 
At  length  Olp/ia  rises,  moves  to  window  l.) 

Paul.    Let  me  see  it. 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN         17 

(Olivia  gives  him  the  letter  and  the  check  and  goes 
to  the  window  and  looks  out.  There  is  a  glimpse 
of  a  little  pocket  handkerchief  as  she  dabs  her 
eyes.  Elizabeth  sits  in  chair  r.c.  Paul  goes 
c,  looking  at  the  check.) 

Paul.    Two  thousand  eight  hundred  and  ninety- 
five  dollars.     Whew! 

Olivia.    (Near  ivindow  l.J    How  much  will  that 
leave  in  the  bank? 

Paul,    (c.)    About  two  hundred  and  fifteen, 

Charles.     When's  the  interest  on  the  mortgage 
due? 

Paul.     Next  month. 

Charles.     The  Yank  pays  his  rent  in  advance, 
doesn't  he? 

Paul.    Yes,  thank  God. 

Charles.     That'll  make  $5,215,  thanks  to  Livy. 
Some  difference,  eh? 

Olivia.    (At  window  L.j    Isn't  it  time  Jack  Cur- 
ley  was  getting  here? 

Paul.     (Crosses  to  l.c.    Looking  at  his  watch) 
More  than  time.    Can't  see  what's  keeping  him. 

Olivia.  (Turning  hack  to  the  window)  Here's 
somebody  in  a  Ford.  (Paul  crosses  to  window.) 
Oh,  it's  Randy  Weeks.  Let  him  in,  Charlie, 
(Crosses  c.)  No  servants  left,  you  know.  (Olivia 
crosses  to  Bess.  Charles  goes  out,  leaving  door 
open.)  Wonder  what  Randy  wants. 
'  Elizabeth.  (c.  Significantly,  looking  at 
Olivia,  putting  her  chair  hack  l.c.  J  Reckon  I  could 
guess  without  trying  more  than  once. 

Olivia.    (Smiling)    Oh,  you,  hush  now ! 

Elizabeth.    (Teasing)    Going  to  take  him,  Livy  ? 

Olivia.     Nonsense ! 

Elizabeth.     Why  don't  you  take  him  or  leave 
him? 


i8        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Paul.  (Comes  behind  table,  between  them  and 
stands  L.c.j  Don't  ask  silly  questions,  Bess.  Why 
does  a  fisherman  use  a  rod  and  reel  and  an  almost 
invisible  line  when  he  could  yank  'em  out  with  a  net  ? 
Because  it's  more  fun. 

Elizabeth.  Humph!  Not  for  the  fish. 
(Crosses  in  front  of  table  r.c.J 

Olivia.  Oh,  yes,  but  that's  what  he  gets  for 
being  a  fish!  (Crosses  to  l.  Paul  goes  up  stage 
a  little.) 

(Enter  Randolph  Weeks  and  Charlie.  Weeks 
is  a  nice  but  commonplace  young  Virginian  of 
thirty  years  or  thereabouts.  Paul  goes  up  and 
greets  Weeks,  then  comes  l.  Charles  goes  r. 
of  Weeks  at  c.) 

Elizabeth.    Hello,  Randy. 

Weeks.    Hello,  Bess. 

Olivia.    The  birds  are  just  flitting,  you  see. 

Weeks,  (c.)  Yes,  I'm  glad  I  caught  you  in  time. 
You  see,  I'm  afraid  I've  bad  news  for  you.  I  was 
down  at  the  station  and  only  two  people  got  off  the 
Washington  train — a  Baltimore  drummer  and  a  dar- 
key with  one  leg. 

All.  Well,  what  on  earth,  etc.  (Ad  lib.  Eliza- 
beth sits  L.  of  table,  Charlie  a  step  forward.) 

Weeks.  And  now  I  just  got  a  telegram — (Pro^ 
duces  telegram) — from  that  Washington  intelligence 
office.  (Elizabeth  pushes  Charles  and  takes  his 
place.) 

Olivia.  Those  servants  not  coming?  (Stands  l. 
of  L.  table.) 

Weeks.  No — seems  they  changed  their  minds  at 
the  last  moment. 

Paul.  (Coming  down  by  Weeks — Charles  goes 
R.  to  mantel.)    But  why  ?    Why  ? 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        19 

Weeks.  Didn't  say.  Too  far  from  the  city,  per- 
haps. 

Paul.  But  this  is  terrible — leaving  us  all  in  the 
lurch  at  the  last  minute. 

Weeks.    Yes — I  know  it  is. 

Olivia.  Look  here,  Randy.  This  is  a  mighty 
serious  thing  for  us.  Mr.  Crane — or  whatever  his 
name  is — is  arriving  almost  any  moment,  isn't  he? 

Weeks.    Yes — he's  coming  in  his  motor. 

Charles.  (At  mantel  r.)  And  not  a  servant  in 
the  house. 

Elizabeth.  Good  thing,  too.  Only  one  thing  to 
do.     Get  our  blessed  old  darkies  back. 

Olivia.     Bess,   you   know    that's   no   good 

(Sits  chair  l.  of  table  l.c.J 

Weeks.  Livy's  right.  Mr.  Crane  was  very  par- 
ticular about  that.  A  full  staff  of  white  servants 
and  no  darkeys  around  the  place — that's  what  he 
said.     It's  in  the  lease,  too. 

Paul.  (Comes  to  Weeks j  But  it's  not  our 
fault.  Don't  you  think  that,  under  the  circum- 
stances, he 

Weeks.  No,  old  boy,  I  don't.  The  matter  of  the 
servants  was  the  only  thing  he  was  particular  about, 
but  he  made  it  quite  clear  that  if  his  wishes  in  that 
line  were  not  respected  he  would  not  spend  a  night 
in  the  place.  Of  course,  I  dare  say  that  within  a 
few  days  we  could  round  up  another  bunch.  Mean- 
time  

Elizabeth.  Couldn't  you  telegraph  him  not  to 
come  for  a  week  ? 

Weeks.  I  reckon  not.  He's  on  his  way  here  now 
— and  he's  asked  two  or  three  guests.  (Moves  to 
back  of  table  r.) 

Paul.  Well,  I  reckon  it's  all  off,  then.  (Crosses 
and  puts  l.  arm  around  Olivia.j  We've  done  our 
best.     (Goes  to  window.) 


'20        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Charles.  (Crosses  to  fireplace.  Elizabeth  joins 
him  at  mantel)     $5,000  gone  up  the  flue.     Phew! 

Weeks.  (Back  of  table  r.)  I'm  mighty  sorry. 
It's  a  dirty  trick  and  so  I  telegraphed  'em. 

Charles.  Much  good  that  does.  We're  $5,000 
out  and  all  we  get  is  the  privilege  of  sassing  'em. 
And  we  can't  say  what  we  think  over  the  wire,  any- 
how. 

Olivia.  (Rises,  crosses  to  l.  of  Weeks  c.  Very 
soberly)  Look  here,  Randy,  you  know  what  a  facer 
this  is.  You  don't  suppose  we'd  have  consented  to 
rent  the  old  place  if  we  hadn't  been  pretty  near  rock 
bottom,  do  you  ? 

Weeks.  You  don't  have  to  tell  me.  I  reckon  I 
know. 

Olivia.  It's — it's  kind  of  hard  to  talk  about. 
Poor  old  dad's  over  there  fighting  for  his  life,  that's 
all  he  can  do — and  the  rest  of  us  are  pretty  close 
to  the  wall.  This  $5,000  would  have  kept  us  going 
quite  a  while.  (Olivia  goes  up  c,  sees  Amanda's 
apron,  picks  it  up  and  looks  at  it.  Also  picks  up 
duster.     Bess  sits  r.c.^ 

Weeks,  ^r.c.j  Don't  I  know  it?  That's  why  I 
boosted  the  price  up  on  him  till  I  felt  like  a  highway 
robber.  Oh !  I  know  a  real  estate  agent  is  supposed 
to  have  a  hide  like  a  hippopotamus ;  but  $5,000  for 

six  weeks (Gives  lozv  whistle.)     I  could  be 

arrested  for  that!     (Comes  in  front  of  table  l.) 

Paul.  (At  l.,  gloomily)  Well,  you  needn't 
worry.     You're  safe  now. 

Weeks.  (Approaching  Paul  and  taking  his  hand) 
I'm  horribly  sorry,  old  boy — really  I  am. 

Paul.  Thanks,  Randy,  thanks — you  did  your  best 
for  us.  (Crosses  to  chair  l.  between  windows  L. 
Pause.) 

Olivia.  (Puts  on  apron,  curtseying)  Well,  what 
you-all  wants  for  dinner? 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        21 

Paul.  Now,  Livy,  is  this  a  time  for  your  non- 
sense ? 

Olivia.    Does  I  look  like  the  cook  or  doesn't  I? 

Elizabeth.    Livy,  for  goodness'  sake 

Charles.  But  surely,  Livy,  vou're  not  thinking 
of 

Weeks.  Hold  your  horses.  Livy's  not  joking. 
She's  got  hold  of  something. 

Olivia.  Randy,  there  were  four  of  those  serv- 
ants, weren't  there? 

Weeks.  Yes,  four.  (Charles  conies  down  r. 
Elizabeth  comes  front  of  table  r.) 

Olivia.    What  were  they? 

Weeks.  (Front  of  table  l.)  Why,  a  butler,  an 
upstairs  girl,  and  a  sort  of  all-around  boy  for  the 
boots  and  errands  and  so  on — and  a  cook. 

Olivia.    What  you-all  wants  for  dinner? 

Paul.    Olivia,  is  this  a  time  for  your  nonsense  ? 

Olivia.  Does  I  look  like  the  cook  or  doesn't  I? 
Charlie's  the  usual  boy. 

Charles.     I'm  the  what? 

Olivia.  (To  Elizabeth j  You're  the  upstairs 
girl. 

Elizabeth.    Me! 

Olivia.    Paul's  the  butler! 

Paul.     I'm  the  butler! 

Olivia.  And  I'm  the  cook.  (Weeks  has  not 
moved  since  speaking.  He  now  moves  up  l.  and 
across  back   to  mantelpiece.) 

Paul,     Nonsense!     (Crosses  to  Olivia  c.) 

Elizabeth.  (Collapsing  on  chair  R.)  Well,  did 
anybody  ever  hear 

Paul.  (Comes  down  r.  of  table  l.c.  j  Livy,  yau 
don't  mean  it. 

Charles.  (Crosses  in  front  of  table  to  Oliviaj 
Olive ! 

Olivla.    Now  don't  call  me  Olive.    That's  not  my 


M        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

name  and  I  don't  like  it.  An  olive  is  nothing  but  an 
Italian  prune. 

Charlie.    But,  Livy (Sits  l.  of  table  ^.) 

Weeks.  Look  here,  Livy,  you  don't  mean  it? 
You're  not  really  serious? 

All.  See  here,  Livy,  what  in  the  name  of — etc, 
etc.  ('Olivia  comes  down.  Paul  comes  to  her  be- 
low table.) 

Olivia.  (c.  Quieting  them)  Hsh!  Hsh! 
Please !  Now,  look  here.  (Weeks  gets  around 
back  to  mantel  r.)  When  mother  and  dad  went 
abroad  they  took  $6,000  with  them.  Most  of  that's 
gone.  They  left  $5,000  in  the  bank  for  us.  When 
the  life  insurance  policy  is  paid  there'll  be  $215  of 
that  left,  and  the  unpaid  bills  are  a  foot  high.  Every 
stick  and  stone  and  living  creature  is  mortgaged  to 
the  last  cent.  Horses,  hunters,  cattle,  sheep,  every- 
thing but  the  dog,  and  we'd  have  mortgaged  him  if 
he  hadn't  had  the  mange.  There's  not  a  soul  that 
we  can  turn  to — not  a  soul — ^there's  only  ourselves, 
and  what  can  we  do  ?     Nothing — not  a  thing ! 

Paul.  But  Livy !  (Advancing  to  her)  See  here, 
there  must  be  some  other  way. 

Olivia.  Oh,  Paul !  I'm  not  complaining,  but  you 
see,  we've  never  learnt  how  to  do  anything.  Bess 
and  I  particularly — just  entertained  girls,  and 
Charlie  hardly  out  of  school.  (Exclamations  from 
Charlie.  Elizabeth  rises  and  goes  up  to  Weeks 
by  mantel.)  And  you,  Paul,  are  going  to  do  wour 
derful  things,  I  know,  when  you've  finished  your 
law  course ;  but — meantime  here's  a  chance  to  make 
good. 

Charles.  Make  good?  (Moves  r.  and  stands 
below  table.) 

Elizabeth.  Make  what?  (Comes  below  table 
^) 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        23 

Paul.  That's  all  very  well,  Livy,  but  I  don't 
exactly  picture  myself  as  a  domestic. 

Olivia.  Why  not?  You'd  look  a  dream — (All 
laugh.  She  slips  duster  through  his  arm.  Eliza- 
beth joins  Charles  fro7it  of  table.)  Bess,  Charlie ! 
Oh,  Paul ! — can't  you  see,  whether  we  like  it  or  not, 
it  solves  our  problem,  it  solves  father's  problem — 
it'll  be  for  dad.  Can't  you  understand  ? — sick  among 
strangers,  and  you  hesitate.     (Weeps.) 

Weeks.      (At   mantel.     After   a  pause)     Livy, 

you're  wonderful,  but  I  don't  quite  see  how 

Paul.  Same  here.  Sis.  I  don't  see  how  we  can 
do  it. 

Olivia.    Why  not? 

Elizabeth.     We'd    be   sure   to   be    found    out. 
(Olivia  comes  down  c.) 
Charles.     Sure.     Neighbors  would  come  in — 

people  we  know 

Paul.    They'd  give  us  away. 
Elizabeth.       And     what     would    they    think? 
CElizabeth  and  Charles  close  to  table.) 

Weeks.  Yes,  Livy.  It's  a  splendid  idea,  but  I'm 
afraid  it  wouldn't  work. 

Olivia.    Why  not  ?  (Crosses  to  Weeks  r.^  None 
of  us  has  ever  seen  Mr. — what's  his  name? 
Weeks.     Crane — Burton  Crane. 
Olivia.    He  wouldn't  know  us  from  Adam. 
Paul.      But  the   others,   our   neighbors — ^people 

we've  grown  up  with 

Olivia.    Now  wait,  dear.     This  is  Thursday,  isn't 
it? 
Weeks.    Yes. 

Olivia.  Don't  you  think  you  could  get  a  new  lot 
of  white  servants  here  from  Washington  by  Mon- 
day? 

Weeks.    Yes,  it's  just  possible. 


24        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Olivia.  Telegraph,  telephone,  go  yourself,  offer 
them  double  wages,  anything  to  get  them. 

Weeks.    I  might,  yes,  I  think  it  could  be  done. 

Olivia.  Then  don't  you  see,  we'd  have  only  three 
days  for  our  little  masquerade.  It  would  be  quite 
safe.  Mr.  Yankee  Man  surely  won't  be  giving  a 
party  for  a  day  or  two  and  the  third  day  is  a  Sun- 
day. 

Weeks.  And  now  I  think  of  it,  he  said  he  was 
coming  here  for  a  rest. 

Olivia.  (Coming  up  c.  between  Elizabeth  and 
Paul.j  There — don't  you  see,  Paul.  Charlie — 
Bess — just  three  days  of  it  and  it's  all  right. 

Elizabeth.  I — I  don't  believe  I  could.  (Sits 
front  of  table  R.j 

Olivia.  Bess — Boys — not  for  dad?  (They  re- 
main silent  for  a  moment.  Olivia  comes  c.  to  r.  of 
Paul.; 

Paul.    So,  I'm  the  butler. 

Olivia.  Oh,  Paul,  you  will  ?  You  darling !  (She 
gives  him,  a  kiss.) 

Paul.    Now  hold  on,  Sis,  I  haven't  said  yes. 

Olivia.    Charlie ! 

Charlie.  Oh,  all  right  .  .  .  me  for  the  boots — 
but  how  do  you  do  it  ? 

Olivia.  But  you  will !  And  me  for  the  kitchen. 
And  I  can  cook — thank  Heaven !  It's  the  only  thing 
I  can  do!  (Pushing  Weeks  to  c.)  Randy,  do  go 
and  look  out  of  the  window.  (Weeks  crosses  to  l. 
lower  window.     Olivia  crosses  to  lJ 

Paul.     Yes,  but  how  does  one  buttle? 

Olivia.  Oh,  it's  quite  simple.  You  open  the 
door,  answer  the  bell,  wait  on  the  table  and  wear  a 
dress  suit  in  the  day  time,  so  they  can  tell  you're  not 
a  gentleman.     (Charles  sitting  all  the  time.) 

Elizabeth.  (Sitting  front  of  table  r.)  Yes,  but 
I  don't  know  how  to  be  a  maid. 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        25 

Olivia.  All  you  have  to  do,  child,  is  to  set  the 
rooms  to  rights,  and  make  the  beds. 

Elizabeth.    Yes,  but  I  never  made  a  bed. 

Olivia.  (Laughing)  Oh,  poor  Mr.  Yankee 
Man!  Before  we've  done  with  you  we  shall  have 
avenged  the  South!     (All  laugh  except  Bess  J 

(Horn  heard  off.) 

Elizabeth.    I — I  think  it's  awful ! 

Olivia.  Quick!  He's  here!  Quick!  Upstairs, 
all  of  you.  (They  all  rush  for  their  different  be- 
longings. Charlie  up  r.  of  door  c.  for  golf  sticks. 
Elizabeth  crosses  l.  for  bag,  colliding  with  Paul 
as  he  is  crossing  for  his  books,  and  all  making  for 
door  up  c.)  There's  a  lot  of  old  things  up  in  the 
garret,  Paul — dress  suit,  you  know.  Charlie — 
apron,  something  of  that  sort. 

(They  exit  up  staircase,  exclaiming.) 

Charles.     I  know — just  watch  me! 
Elizabeth,    I  don't  know  where  a  thing  is. 

(Ham  heard  off  ad  lib.) 

Weeks.     Sh! — ^look  out,  Livy. 

Olivia.     Is  he  here? 

Weeks,  (Looking  from  window)  Yes,  just  get- 
ting out  of  the  motor.  (Both  move  to  window.) 
Sh! — look  out,  Livy. 

Olivia,  (c.  Peeping  from,  the  window)  He 
doesn't  look  so  poisonous — at  a  distance. 

Weeks.    The  other  man's  the  chauffeur. 

Olivia.  You'll  have  to  let  him  in.  Randy,  (Opens 
door  up  c.)    Tell  him  anything  you  like — ^keep  him 


26        COME  OUT  OF  THE  ,'K:iTCHEN 

busy  a  few  minutes — I've  got  to  go  and  make  up  the 
cook.    (She  starts  to  go.) 

Weeks.    But  I — I  won't  be  mixed  up  in  it. 

Olivia.  But,  Randy,  dear,  you  are  mixed  up  in 
it.     (At  door.) 

Weeks.  I  tell  you,  I  won't  have  anything  to  do 
with  it. 

Olivia.  Don't  be  silly,  Randy.  You  can't  give 
us  away  and  you  know  it. 

Weeks.    What'U  I  say  to  him? 

Olivia.  Tell  him  anything  you  like.  Ha,  ha,  ha ! 
Poor  Mr.  Yankee  Man!  Well,  anyhow,  he  will 
have  good  things  to  eat. 

(Olivia  goes  out  r.  When  Olivia  runs  upstairs, 
knocker  heard  off  R.  Weeks  walks  down  R. 
When  Weeks  is  down  r.,  knocker  again.  When 
Weeks  up  c.  again,  knocker  again.  Weeks 
exits  c.  to  L.  After  a  pause  Weeks  returns  and 
with  him  Crane.  The  latter  is  tall,  good-look- 
ing, dark,  young  man  of  28  or  30.  He  wears 
a  heavy  motor  coat  and  carries  a  motor  cap  in 
his  hand.) 

Crane.  (They  enter  c.  from  L.)  Awfully  good 
of  you,  Mr.  Weeks,  to  be  here  to  welcome  me  in 
person.  (Takes  off  the  motor  coat  and  drops  it  on 
the  chair  l.  of  c.  door.)  I  suppose  this  is  the  draw- 
ing-room. (Looking  about  him.)  Ah,  yes,  the 
usual  family  portrait,  I  see.  (Weeks  at  door  c. 
Crane  picks  up  the  miniature.)  Oh,  I  say,  this  is 
delightful. 

Weeks.  Yes,  it's  a  sort  of  heirloom.  (Closes 
door  c.    He  crosses  to  chair  l.  of  table  l.c.) 

Crane.  (Looks  about  and  crosses  to  chair  l.  of 
table  R.c.j     Rather  nice  furniture. 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        27 

Weeks.  Yes,  it's  all  very  old.  (Crosses  to  chair 
L.  of  table  L.c.j 

Crane.  I  believe  you.  Quite  sure  it's  safe  to 
sit  on? 

Weeks.    Oh,  certainly. 

Crane.  All  right.  Let's  try  it.  (They  both  sit 
down.)  I  understood  you  to  say  the  place  has  never 
been  rented  before. 

Weeks.    Never,  sir. 

Crane.  (With  a  quizzical  smile,  looking  about 
him)     It  seems  quite  likely. 

Weeks.  (In  his  professional  manner)  I  am  sure 
the  place  will  please  you — it's  delightful  colonial 
flavor 

Crane.    It's  historic  dilapidation- 


Weeks.  Its  boxwood  garden — its  splendid  lawns 
— its  stables,  accommodating  twenty-five  horses. 

Crane.  (Smiling)  Yes,  I  appreciate  the  place, 
all  right,  but  I  do  not  consider  it  in  good  repair. 
However,  it's  only  for  a  short  time.  Oh,  by  the  way, 
how  about  the  servants?  (Weeks  rises.)  Now 
that  I  think  of  it,  I  haven't  seen  any  servants.  (He 
looks  at  Weeks,  who  obviously  balks  at  entering 
upon  a  career  of  mendacity.)  Mr.  Weeks, — (Rises.) 
— you  haven't  forgotten  the  stipulation  of  the  lease 
regarding  servants? 

Weeks.    (Quickly)    Oh,  no,  sir,  no,  no,  indeed. 

Crane.  Well,  what  about  'em — where  are  they? 
(Moves  to  c.) 

Weeks.  (Making  heavy  weather  of  it)  Why — 
ah — really,  I — er — I  don't  exactly  know — I 

Crane.     Don't  know? 

Weeks.  That  is — I  mean  to  say — I  reckon  they 
must  be  upstairs.  You  see,  they  arrived  only  a 
few  minutes  before  you  came,  and  I — er — daresay 
they  must  be  up  in  their  rooms — er — sort  of  getting 
used  to  their  new — ah — circumstances. 


28         COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Crane.  Oh,  I  see.  You're  sure  they're  all  right? 
(Crosses  r.) 

Weeks.  Oh,  yes,  certainly.  I've — ah — ^known 
them  a  long  time. 

Crane.  (At  mantel,  laughing)  I  see — personal 
friends  of  yours ! 

Weeks.    Well — ah — ^yes,  in  a  way. 

Crane.  No  reason  why  not  .  .  .  my  valet's  one 
of  my  best  friends — convalescing  from  influenza — 
so  I  couldn't  bring  him  along.  Poor  devil — had  a 
hell  of  a  time,  too.     (Lcmghs  and  fnoves  to  c.) 

Weeks.  (Gets  well  to  the  l.,  his  eye  on  the  door. 
Moves  up  c.)  Oh,  yes,  I  understand.  Now,  Mr. 
Crane,  I  think  I'll  have  to  be  running  along. 

Crane.  (Stopping  him)  Oh,  don't  go.  Stay 
and  share  my  first  dinner  here. 

Weeks.      Really,    I'm    afraid    I (Edging 

toward  door.) 

Crane.  Come,  cc«ne,  do,  now,  like  a  good  fel- 
low. I'm  expecting  three  guests — Mrs.  Falkner  and 
her  daughter  and  Mr.  Tucker,  my  attorney — but 
they  may  not  get  here  till  after  dinner,  and  I'd  hate 
to  dine  alone.  Besides,  you  engaged  the  cook  and 
if  she  turns  out  to  be  rotten,  the  least  you  can  do 
is  to  share  my  sufferings.  Come,  now, — what  do 
you  say? 

Warn  CURTAIN 

Weeks.    Well,  really,  Mr.  Crane,  I — er 

(Enter  at  rear  Olivia,  now  quite  made  up  in  her 
character  of  cook.  Her  object  is  to  retrieve 
her  handbag  on  chair  l.c.  without  being  seen.) 

Crane.  Ah,  you  will,  eh  ? 
Weeks.  Thank  you,  yes. 
Crane.    Fine — then  that's  settled.    And  now 


(Turns  and  sees  Olivia  ju^  as  she  has  almost  es- 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        29 

caped  with  the  hand-bag.)    Hello (She  stops.) 

Who's  this?    (Up  a  little.)    Who  are  you? 

Olivia.  (Turning  and  speaking  with  a  marked 
brogue)     Faith,  I'm  the  cook. 

Crane.  (Opening  his  eyes  at  her  beauty)  God 
bless  my  soul,  are  you,  indeed  ? 

Olivia.    Yes,  your  honor. 

Crane.    And  what  are  you  doing  in  here? 

Olivia.  Faith,  then,  I  was  just  after  comin'  in 
to  get  me  luggage. 

Crane.    Luggage  ? 

(Weeks  waves  to  her  that  initials  are  showing.    She 
turns  bag.    Crane  watches  business.) 

Olivia.  I  was  afther  leavin'  it  in  here  before 
your  honor  arrived.  (She  glances  at  the  bag,  sees 
the  initials  "0.  D."  are  painfully  suspicious,  and  in- 
stantly turns  the  bag  so  as  to  hide  them.) 

Crane.    Oh,  I  see.    All  right. 

Olivia.    Thank  yez,  sor.    (Going.) 

Crane.  Oh,  cook.  (Obviously  smitten  and  wish- 
ing to  see  more  of  her,  moving  up  stage  a  little.) 
Are  you  a  good  cook? 

Olivia.  (In  doorway)  Sure,  and  I  never  heard 
anyone  complain  about  me  cookin'  yet. 

Crane.    What  are  your  specialties? 

Olivia.  Me  what,  sor?  (Pretending  not  to  un- 
derstand.) 

Crane.  Excuse  me,  I  mean  what  do  you  do 
best  ? 

Olivia.  Faith,  then,  'tis  all  one  to  me,  sor,  so 
long  as  it's  vittles.  'Tis  meself  can  take  the  sole 
of  your  honor's  shoe  and  turn  it  out  so's  it'll  melt 
in  your  honor's  mouth. 

Crane.  (Laughing)  Heavens!  I  hope  you 
won't  do  anything  Uke  that. 


30        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Olivia.  Sure,  I  didn't  say  I  would,  sor.  I  said 
I  could.  And  full  well  it  is  Misther  Weeks  himself 
is  afther  knowin'  I  could,  if  'tis  the  simple  trut*  he'd 
be  speakin'. 

Crane.    How  about  it,  Mr.  Weeks? 

Weeks.  (Somezvhat  sulkily)  I — er — really — ^well 
— she — she  can  cook. 

Olivia.  (Apparently  nettled  by  this  grudging 
testimonial)  Ha !  Cook,  is  it !  Cook,  indade ! 
Sure  I  can  cook.  If  anybody's  after  saying  I  can't 
cook — it's  a  liar  I'd  be  calling- 

Crane.     (Interrupting )    Well,  that's  all,  I  think. 

Olivia.  Thank  you,  sor.  (Turning.}  And  is 
there  any  little  thing  your  honor'd  be  likin'  for  din- 
ner, this  day? 

Crane.  Why,  yes,  you  might  find  a  whiskbroom, 
stew  it  up  so  I'll  think  it  is  a  terrapin  a  la  Balti- 
more. 

Olivia.  Faith,  then,  I  c'u'd  do  that  aisy  if  I  had 
only  the  whiskbroom — ^but  I'm  that  strange  in  the 
house  yet  I  don't  know  where  anything  is.  Thank 
you,  thank  you.  (She  makes  a  little  curtsey  and 
goes  out.) 

Crane.  Well,  I'm  darned!  Is  that  the  cook? 
Why,  she's  a  Dresden  China  shepherdess.  .  .  She's 
a  figure  off  a  Grecian  urn.  I  say,  Weeks,  couldn't 
we  dine  in  the  kitchen  ? 

CURTAIN 


SCENE   II 

(Curtain  falls  to  indicate  the  passage  of  four 
hours.    It  rises  again  in  half  a  minute,) 

(Chandelier  lights,  demi-tasse  service  for  two  per- 
sons and  spirit  lamp  alight  on  fable  R.cJ 

(When  the  curtain  rises,  the  time  is  after  dinner, 
Mrs.  Falkner  and  her  daughter  Cora  are  sit- 
ting, drinking  their  after-dinner  coffee.  They 
are  both  in  evening  gowns,  Mrs.  Falkner  is 
a  stout  old  warrior  of  fifty  odd  years  with  a 
narrotv  mind  of  her  own  and  no  objection  to 
speaking  it.  Her  daughter  is  a  handsom^e  girl 
of  twenty-five  or  twenty-six,  a  big,  strong, 
healthy  creature  of  the  Ainazonic  type,  straight- 
forward and  likeable  and  rather  clever.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Seated  armchair  r.c.  as  curtain 
rises.  With  demi-tasse  cup  in  hand)  Now,  Cora, 
there's  sense  in  .what  I  say.     You  can't  deny  it. 

Cora.  (Seated  r.  of  table  l.c,  reading  "Vogue") 
No,  Mother,  I'm  not  denying  it. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Burton  Crane's  a  very  fine  fel- 
low, isn't  he? 

Cora.     Of  course — of  course. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  And  if  I  do  say  it,  you're  a  very 
pretty  girl,  aren't  you? 

31 


32         COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Cora.     Well,  really,   Mother (Protesting.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Oh,  piffle !  Triple  piffle !  Mod- 
esty's all  very  well — but  not  when  practiced  to  ex- 
cess! Crane's  a  fine  fellow.  You're  a  fine  girl.  I 
see  no  obstacle  whatever  to  your  happiness.  Do 
you? 

Cora.  Hush,  Mother,  they'll  hear  you.  (Glances 
apprehensively  at  the  door.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Nonsense!  This  isn't  a  New 
York  flat.  Besides,  it's  time.  You're  settled.  I 
must  say  your  marriage  will  be  a  great  relief  to  me. 

Cora.     Oh,  Mother ! 

Mrs.  Falkner.  It  was  all  well  enough  when  you 
were  a  child,  but  the  income  your  poor  father  left 
me  was  never  sufficient  for  two  grown  women 
brought  up  to  subsist  exclusively  upon  necessary 
luxuries  and  luxurious  necessities.  Better  have  a 
little  talk  with  your  Uncle  Solon  about  the  state  of 
our  bank  account.  If  you  are  the  sensible  girl  I 
take  you  for,  it  will  accellerate  your  progress  to  the 
altar.     (Drinks  coffee.) 

Cora.  But,  Mother,  you  speak  as  if  all  I  had  to 
do  was  to  give  Burton  a  chance  to  propose.  He's 
had  plenty  of  chances. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  A  proposal  is  never  a  matter  of 
chance.  It's  a  matter  of  calculation.  He  needs 
more  than  a  chance.  He  needs  a  push.  Well,  that 
ought  to  come  easy  now.  Oh,  don't  look  so  shocked. 
He  comes  of  a  good  stock.  He's  not  difficult  to 
look  at — and  if  he  is  as  rich  as  mud,  why,  three 
rousing  cheers  for  that.  So,  co-operate,  my  dear, 
co-operate,  sympathetically 

Cora.  (Sighs)  Very  well,  Mother.  (Rises,  lays 
fnagazine  on  table,  goes  in  front  of  same.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.     (Suspiciously)     Cora 

Cora.     Yes,  Mother? 

Mrs.  Falkner.    Come  here,  please. 


I 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        33 

Cora.  Yes,  Mother.  (She  does  so.  Crosses  he- 
low  table  L.c.  to  c.  and  stands.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Don't  tell  me  you  are  still  al- 
lowing yourself  to  think  of  that — that  person. 

Cora.    What  person,  Mother? 

Mrs.  Falkner.  You  know  very  well  whom  I 
mean.    Tom  Lefferts,  of  course. 

Cora.    Why,  Mother ! 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Once  and  for  all,  I  wont  have  it. 
The  man's  a  trifler,  and,  what's  worse,  a  pauper; 
you  can't  contradict  me. 

Cora.  No,  Mother,  I'm  not  contradicting  you. 
(Turns  and  conies  l.J 

Mrs.  Falkner.    Calls  himself  a  poet ! 

Cora.  Oh,  no,  Mother,  it's  other  people  who  call 
him  that. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Well,  has  he  ever  denied  it? 
When  an  honest  man's  called  a  thief,  he  denies  it, 
doesn't  he? 

Cora.  Must  we  go  over  all  that  again?  (Front 
of  table.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Not  a  dollar  to  his  name  !  How- 
ever, I  merely  wish  to  be  understood  once  and  for 
all  that  I  won't  have  it. 

Cora.     Very  well.   Mother.      (At  window.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Look  here,  Cora,  it  strikes  me 
that  you're  suspiciously  submissive  all  at  once.  You 
haven't  been  seeing  that  man  ? 

Cora.  Why,  of  course  not,  Mother,  how  can  you? 
(Comes  to  back  of  table  l.,  joining  Weeks,  who 
enters.) 

(Tucker  and  Weeks  come  in  from  the  dining  room. 
Weeks  is  dressed  as  we  saw  him  before,  the 
others  are  in  evening  dress.  Tucker  is  a  mid- 
dle-aged lazvyer,  cautious,  crafty,  and  self-im- 
portantly  dignified.     They  are  both  smoking.) 


34 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 


Tucker.  (Coming  to  l.  of  Mrs.  Falknerj  My 
dear,  do  you  mind  if  we  finish  our  cigars  in  here? 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Of  course  not.  To  tell  the 
truth,  I'm  dying  for  a  cigarette  myself. 

Crane.  Of  course,  of  course.  (He  gives  her  a 
cigarette,  then  offers  case  to  Cora. J    Cora? 

Cora.     No,  thanks,     (r.  of  Weeks,  j 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Oh,  take  one,  Cora.  Now-a- 
days,  not  smoking  makes  a  woman  look  so  conspicu- 
ous. 

(Tucker,  back  of  table  r.,  holds  spirit  lamp  while 
Mrs.  Falkner  lights  cigarette. 

Tucker.  (Stands  r.  of  Mrs.  Falkner  after 
placing  spirit  lamp  on  tray.)  What  a  fine  old  room 
this  is! 

Mrs.  Falkner.    Oh,  yes — it  has  its  atmosphere. 

Cora.  (Who  has  been  wandering  about,  picks 
up  the  miniature)  Oh,  look,  Mother !  How  lovely ! 
Look,  Uncle  Solon.  (Crosses  to  Mrs.  F.  Shows  it 
to  her.) 

Mrs,  Falkner.    Ah,  yes,  to  be  sure. 

Tucker.    All  little  frills. 

Weeks.  (Down  l.J  It's  the  grandmother  of 
these  people  here. 

Cora.    What  delightful  clothes ! 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Ah — ^yes — delightful.  Glad  we 
don't  have  to  wear  them.  (Rises.  Goes  to  r.  and 
stands  by  mantel.)  Though  I  did  once — at  a  cos- 
tume ball.  I  looked  a  sight!  ^Tucker  crosses 
up  R.) 

Weeks  and  Tucker.    Oh,  no,  no 


1 


(Cora  takes  the  miniature  back  to  its  place  on  the 
little  table.  She  sits  in  chair  R.  of  table  l.c. 
Enter  Burton  Crane,  door  c.) 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        35 

Crane.  Well,  Mrs,  Falkner,  our  cook  can  cooJci 
can't  she?  (Crosses  to  r.c.  and  lights  his  cigarette 
with  spirit  lamp  on  table  r.c.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  She's  too  good  to  last.  (Weeks 
is  hack  of  table  L.c.j 

Cora.  (Seated  r.  of  table  l.c.  j  It  was  a  delicious 
dinner,  wasn't  it.  Uncle  Solon? 

Tucker.  (At  hack  of  chair  r.c.  Moves  to  c.  of 
stage)  Well,  it's  a  little  early  to  decide.  My  ex- 
perience is  that  you  can  tell  more  about  a  dinner  two 
hours  after  you've  eaten  it. 

Crane.  (Standing  hack  of  table  r.)  Once  a 
lawyer,  always  cautious,  (All  laugh.  Mrs.  F,  goes 
back  of  small  table.) 

Tucker.  (At  c.)  Not  at  all.  My  contention  is 
that  to  assume  that  a  dinner  is  a  good  dinner  merely 
because  it  has  an  agreeable  taste  is  leaping  to  a  con- 
clusion which  has  not  as  yet  a  sufficient  foundation 
in  known  facts. 

Cora.  You're  asking  a  good  deal  of  a  cook, 
Uncle.     (Mrs.  F.  flicks  ashes  from  cigarette.)      ' 

Crane.  I  should  say  so.  (Crosses  to  Tucker  at 
c,  who  goes  up,  looking  at  portrait  r.  of  door.)  Of 
course,  I'm  delighted  to  have  you  here  and  I  shall 
do  all  I  can  to  insure  your  comfort,  but  really  I 
shall  have  to  ask  you  to  digest  your  own  dinner. 
(All  laugh.)    Eh,  Mr.  Weeks? 

Weeks.    Cl.  of  table  L.c.j    Seems  fair  to  me. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Sitting  in  armchair  again)  The 
trouble  with  my  brother,  Mr.  Weeks,  is  that  he's  a 
lawyer  first  and  a  gourmet  afterwards.  By  the  way, 
my  dear  Burton,  you  were  good  enough  to  say  you 
wished  me  to  assist  in  supervising  your  domestic 
menage.  ^Tucker  crosses  at  back  to  back  of 
table  R.) 

Crane.    (Comes  down  to  her  c.)    Did  I  ? 


36         COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Then  the  sooner  we  begin  the 
better.     Will  you  kindly  ring? 

Crane.  Oh,  certainly,  of  course,  (Crosses  front 
of  table  to  hell  cord  below  fireplace  and  pulls  once. 
No  sound  heard  off  stage.)    But  why? 

Mrs.  Falkner.  I  wish  to  inspect  the  staff  at 
once. 

Crane.  (Stands  in  front  of  mantel  smoking  ciga* 
rette)  Oh,  but  do  you  think  that's  necessary,  just 
now? 

Mrs.  Falkner.    I  think  it  desirable. 

Cora.  (Seated  •l.c.)  Oh,  Mother,  couldn't  it  go 
over  till  morning? 

Tucker.  (Moves  to  c.  a  step  or  two.)  The 
sooner  the  better,  I  should  say.  Let  'em  know 
you're  not  to  be  trifled  with.  (Turns  to  Crane.j 
They're  probably  a  pack  of  shirkers. 

Weeks.  (Indignantly,  back  of  table  "L.c.)  Mr. 
Tucker!     I  assure  you 

Tucker.  Oh,  yes,  of  course,  Mr.  Weeks,  you 
picked  'em  out,  didn't  you?  Still,  just  as  well  to 
give  'em  to  understand  you've  an  eye  on  them. 
(Goes  to  hack  of  table  r.c.J 

(Weeks  sits  chair  l.  of  table  l.c.  Enter  Smith- 
field  (formerly  Paulj.  He  is  in  the  conven- 
tional butler's  garb,  with  the  exception  of  a  pair 
of  patent  leather  hoots.  His  hair  is  parted  in 
the  middle  clear  to  the  hack  of  his  neck  and  is 
brushed  forward  from  his  ears.  He  gives  the 
best  imitation  of  an  ultra  British  butler  that  he 
can  muster.) 

Smithfield.  (Leaving  door  open)  I  think  you 
rang,  sir? 

Crane.    Oh,  Mrs.  Falkner 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Come  here,  my  man.  What  is 
your  name? 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        37 

Smithfield.    (c.)     Smithfield,  milady. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Ah,  yes,  of  course.  All  I  could 
think  of  was  Jones 

Smithfield.    Yes,  milady. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Ask  your  fellow  servants  to 
come  to  the  drawing-room  at  once. 

Smithfield.    Very  good,  milady.    (Turns  to  go.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  And  don't  call  me  "milady."  I 
lay  no  claim  whatever  to  that  title. 

Smithfield.  Yes,  milady — er — I  beg  your  par- 
don— but  having  served  the  nobility  for  a  number  of 
years — perhaps  madame  will  understand. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Yes — yes — of  course — run  along. 
Oh,  Smithfield!  (He  turns.)  Oh,  no— I  think 
that's  all. 

Smithfield.  Thank  you,  milady — damn!  (Turns 
up  c.  to  door.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.     Eh,  what? — 

Smithfield.  (Going  to  her)  Madame.  (He 
goes  out,  making  grimace  at  Weeks.  Goes  out  ma- 
jestically closing  door  after  him.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Really,  the  man  has  an  excellent 
manner.  Where  did  you  say  you  got  these  servants, 
Mr.  Weeks? 

Weeks.  (Seated  l.  of  table  l.c.  Not  having 
thought  of  such  an  inquiry,  is  badly  stumped  by  it, 
hut  he  does  the  best  he  can.)  Why — er — from  the 
Billingtons.  The  Crosslet-Billingtons,  of  whom,  no 
doubt,  you  have  heard? 

Mrs.  Falkner.  No — never — never  in  my  life. 
Do  you  know  them.  Burton? 

Crane.  Never  heard  of  'em.  Do  you  know  them 
well? 

Weeks.  Er — as  well  as  anybody,  I  think.  One 
of  our  Southern  families — ^ver>'  nice  people. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  And  how  did  the  Crosslet-Bil- 
lingtons come  to  part  with  these  priceless  gems? 


38         COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Weeks.  The — the  family  is  now  abroad,  but  I 
assure  you  I  had  much  difficulty  to  arrange  it.  Ir^- 
deed,  it  was  not  until  almost  the  last  moment — 
however,  I  sincerely  hope  it  will  all  turn  out  for 
the  best. 

(Smithfield  returns  with  Araminta  (formerly 
Elizabeth  j  and  Brindlebury  (formerly 
CharlesJ.  Araminta  is  costumed  as  an  up- 
stairs girl  and  is  half-frightened  and  half-sulky. 
Brindlebury  wears  a  red  neckerchief,  a  green 
haise  apron  and  leggings,  and  his  hair  is  tousled. 
He  looks  like  a  Dickensian  horse-boy.  Smith- 
field  comes  into  the  room.  The  other  two  stay 
in  doorway.) 

Smithfield.  I  beg  pardon,  Milady-— Cook  will 
be  here  directly. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  You  haven't  been  long  in  this 
country  ? 

Smithfield.     No,  Milady. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  It's  quite  obvious —  Not  long 
enough  to  be  corrupted,  I  should  say.  You  under- 
stand, of  course,  that  you  are  responsible  for  the 
discipline  below  stairs.  (Crane  and  Weeks  are  at 
fireplace.) 

(Charles  cannot  restrain  his  mirth.  Elizabeth 
calls  him  to  order.  Seeing  Mrs.  Falkner 
glaring,  he  turns  laugh  into  a  cough.) 

Smithfield.  Oh,  yes,  Milady.  I  beg  pardon.  I 
never  'ave  any  trouble  of  that  sort. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Burton,  I  think  Smithfield  will 
do. 

Crane.  Very  glad  to  hear  it.  (Smithfield  steps 
up  stage  r.  of  door.) 


I 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        39 
Mrs.  Falkner.    Let  the  young  woman  come  here. 

(Araminta  steps  forward  below  Mrs.  Falkner. 
Charles  gives  her  a  slight  push,  which  she  re- 
sents.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.    What  is  your  name  ? 

Araminta.  (In  a  tone  of  deep  annoyance)  Ara- 
minta! (The  name  jolts  Weeks  and  Smithfield 
severely.  She  gives  Weeks  a  look.  Charles 
laughs  guiltily  up  c.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.     Araminta!     What  a  name! 

Crane.    What's  the  matter  with  it? 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Charley  starts  toward  the 
miniature  on  table  l.c.^  Might  as  well  be  Gwendo- 
lyn. Young  woman,  some  sensible  person  should 
have  restrained  your  silly  parents.  My  daughter 
and  myself  are  to  be  called  at  8 — after  you  have 
drawn  our  baths.  Breakfast  in  our  rooms  a  half- 
hour  later.  (Araminta,  about  to  go  up,  stops  as 
Mrs.  F.  continues)  And  see  here,  my  girl,  you 
keep  your  hands  off  my  silk  stockings — ^you  under- 
stand?— I  don't  know  if  you're  aware  of  it,  Burton, 
but  the  average  housemaid  has  a  perfect  passion  for 
silk  stockings — they  simply  can't  resist  'em.  (Con- 
temptuously) And  now  I  wish  to  speak  with  that 
boy. 

Brindlebury.  (Anxiously)  Yes,  ma'am.  (In- 
stead of  approaching  her,  however,  he  backs  close 
up  to  Weeks  and  the  audience  sees  that  he  is  trying 
to  pass  him-  something  behind  his  back.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Let  the  boy  come  closer.  (Paul 
comes  down  on  Charles'  l.j 

Brindlebury.  Yes,  ma'am,  certainly,  ma'am. 
(He  now  approaches  her  for  inspection.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Pompously)  What  is  your 
name? 


40         COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Brtndlebury.  I,  ma'am,  am  the  useful  boy,  as 
tiaey  say  at  'ome. 

Smithfield.  You'll  find  him  h'excellent  with  the 
boots,  Milady. 

Brindlebury.  (Gaily)  Boots !  Ah,  boots,  ma'- 
am,   to    me — ^partickerly    a    ridin'    boot,    now 

(Whistles  and  waves  duster.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Checking  his  enthusiasm)  Boy ! 
Answer  when  you're  spoken  to.  What  is  your 
name? 

Brindlebury.  (Looks  at  Weeks  for  help,  but 
gets  none.)  My  name,  ma'am,  is  B-R-I-N-D-L-E- 
B-U-R-Y.     (Everybody  amused.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.    Brindlebury! 

Brindlebury.  Pronounced  Brindy,  ma'am — the 
old  Sussex  name,  ma'am,  with  which  I  'ave  no 
doubt,  you,  as  a  student  of  history 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (With  deep  disapproval)  Bur- 
ton, I  think  you'll  have  trouble  with  that  boy. 

Crane.  (Looking  at  the  boy  and  exchanging  a 
srnile  of  involuntary  sympathy)  I  think  I'll  find 
him  all  right. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Brindy!  It's  a  preposterous 
name.     I  think  I  shall  call  you  just  "boy." 

Brindlebury.     Thank  you,  ma'am.     (Starts  to 

go.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.    And,  Boy,  as  for  the  boots ! 

Brindlebury.    Yes,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Take  care  you  don't  remove  the 
trees  from  mine.  I'll  have  no  hands  inside  my 
boots  but  my  own — or  feet,  either.     That  will  do. 

Brindlebury.    Yes,  ma'am.     Thank  you,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (She  waves  them  away.  Brin- 
dlebury and  Araminta  are  sent  off  c.  by  Smith- 
field.  They  exit  laughing.)  And  now,  Smithfield, 
send  up  the  cook  at  once. 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        41 

Smithfield.  (At  door  c.)  I  beg  pardon,  ma'am. 
Here  comes  the  cook. 

(Olivia  comes  in.  Her  kitchen  garb  has  in  no 
way  diminished  her  charms.  Quite  the  con- 
trary, in  fact.  Smithfield  exits  after  Olivia 
is  well  on.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Sitting  up,  conmdsively,  and 
levelling  a  lorgnette  at  her)     You  are  the  cook! 

Olivia.  (In  her  best  brogue)  Faith,  then,  I  am, 
ma'am. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Staring  at  her)  Bless  my  soul ! 
(Cora  unconsciously  draws  nearer,  and  Tucker 
also,  clearing  his  throat  somewhat  loudly.  Weeks 
is  clearly  nervous.)  And  what  is  your  name? 
(Olivia  hesitates.)  I  say,  what  is  5''0ur  name? 
(Weeks  comes  to  the  rescue  and  they  speak  to- 
gether.) 

Olivia  and  Weeks.  (Together)  Jane —  (Al- 
most together)     Ellen. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  There  seems  to  be  a  difference  of 
opinion. 

Olivia.  (In  a  dovelike  voice)  Me  name,  is  Jane- 
Ellen,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Well,  Jane-Ellen,  I  suppose  you 
have  references. 

Weeks.  (Hastily  interposing )  Oh,  the  very  best, 
I  assure  you. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Not  relishing  the  interruption) 
Mr.  Weeks,  if  you  please 

Weeks.  From  the  Crosslet-BilHngtons,  Mrs. 
Falkner,  but  unfortunately  I  have  left  them  at  my 
office.     To-morrow,  if  you  wish 

Olivia.  (Taking  a  paper  from  her  apron  pocket 
and  timidly  handing  it  to  Mrs.  F.^  Here's  me 
character,  ma'am. 


42         COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

(Tucker  takes  it  from  Olivia,  takes  reference  from 
envelope  and  hands  former  to  Mrs.  Falkner, 
who  snatches  it.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Holding  out  at  arm's  length 
and  reading  it)  "To  whom  it  may  concern:  This 
is  to  certify  that  I  recommend  the  bearer,  Jane  Mc- 
Sorley,  as  a  reliable  girl  and  a  competent  cook.  I 
have  known  her  since  her  birth.  She  is  leaving  me 
for  reasons  of  her  own.  But  she  is  the  best  cook 
I  have  ever — employed.  Olivia  Daingerfield." 
Ahem!  It  is  a  flattering  testimonial,  and  who  is 
Olivia  Daingerfield ?  Mrs.  Daingerfield,  I  suppose? 
(Hands  paper  back  to  Tucker,  who  hands  it  to 
Olivia,  j 

Weeks,  Er — no — no.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dainger- 
field are  in  Europe,  I  believe. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Your  friends  travel  a  good  deal, 
don't  they? 

Weeks.  Miss  Olivia  Daingerfield  is  one  of  the 
daughters. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Oh!  (To  Oliviaj  And  may  I 
ask  what  were  these  "reasons  of  your  own,"  my 
girl? 

Olivia.     Excuse  me,  ma'am! 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Why  did  you  leave  Miss  Dain- 
gerfield's  service? 

Olivia.    Must  I  be  afther  tellin'  ye  that,  ma*am? 

Mrs.  Falkner.    I  think  so. 

Olivia.  Faith,  then,  I  couldn't  stand  the  woman 
any  longer.  I  was  sick  and  tired  of  seein'  her 
around  the  place. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Indeed !  (To  Oliviaj  My  girl, 
let  me  see  your  hands.  (Weeks  goes  up  r.  Re- 
luctantly, Olivia  approaches  and  holds  out  her  hands 
for  inspection.    Mrs.  F.  stares  at  them)    Humph! 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        43 

Manicured!  So  you  couldn't  stand  seeing  her 
around  any  longer,  eh? 

Olivia.  Indade,  ma'am,  I  could  not,  then.  Sure, 
she  was  wan  av  them  meddlin'  females  always  pokin' 
her  nose  into  things  was  none  av  her  business. 
(Mrs.  F.  winces  slightly.  Crane  and  Tucker  en- 
joy the  dig.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Ahem !  And  you  went  from  her 
to  the  Crosslet-Billingtons  ? 

Olivia,     Who,  ma'am? 

Mrs.  Falkner.  That  was  the  name,  wasn't  it, 
Mr.  Weeks? 

Weeks.  (Hastily,  behind  table  l.  of  Oliviaj 
Yes,  yes,  from  the  Daingerfields  to  the  Crosslet-Bil- 
lingtons.   Didn't  you,  Jane-Ellen  ? 

Olivia.  Maybe  I  did,  sor.  I  could  never  be  get- 
tin'  that  quare  name  straight  in  me  head. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Bluntly)  My  girl,  have  you 
ever  been  married? 

Olivia.     God  forbid,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Falkner.    (Not  heeding  her)    Or  engaged  ? 

Olivia.  Faith,  ma'am,  has  that  same  anything 
to  do  with  me  cookin'? 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Jane-Ellen,  don't  be  imperti- 
nent. 

Olivia.  No,  ma'am.  'Tis  a  sin  we  sh'u'd  all  pray 
fer  strength  to  avoid. 

(Mrs.  Falkner  starts.    Crane  and  Tucker  smile.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Jane-Ellen,  will  you  answer  my 
question?     Have  you  ever  been  engaged? 

Weeks.  H  you'll  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Falkner,  for 
saying  so,  I  really 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Kindly  do  not  interfere,  Mr. 
Weeks. 

Olivia.    (Short  pause)    Oh,  ma'am,  *tis  not  that 


44         COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

I've  anything  to  conceal.  I  was  engaged  wanst — 
Pat  Conlon  his  name  was — ^as  fine  a  broth  av  a  boy 
as  iver  came  out  av  Ireland.  We  was  to  have  mar- 
ried lasht  June,  on'y,  d'ye  see,  there  was  a  quarrel 
an'  I — I — jusht  can't  bear  to  think  av  it — every  time 

me  mind  gets  runnin'  on  it,  it  just  seems  like 

(Goes  a  few  steps  up  l.  She  pulls  out  a  handker- 
chief and  begins  to  sob  quietly.  The  men  all  gather 
round  her  to  comfort  her.    Cora  rises.) 

Crane.  Oh,  Jane-Ellen,  please,  please  don't  cry. 
Nobody  wants  to  hurt  your  feelings 

Tucker.    Look  here,  my  girl,  don't  do  that. 

(Olivia  murmurs  inarticulately  through  her  sobs.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Well,  really,  I've  had  enough  of 
this.     (Rises.) 

Crane.  (Rather  stiffly,  down  R.J  My  dear  Mrs. 
Falkner,  I  think — ^perhaps  we  all  have — for  the  pres- 
ent. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Angry)  Oh,  well,  come,  Cora. 
I  think  riJ  say  good  night.  (She  goes  out  at  rear 
in  high  dudgeon,  Tucker  opening  door  for  her  c.) 

Cora.  (Coming  down  c.R.  of  Olivia^  Oh,  Jane- 
Ellen,  you  mustn't  cry.  Mother  didn't  mean  to  hurt 
you.  (Going.)  She  shouldn't  have  said  that.  (A 
fresh  burst  of  quiei  sobbing  comes  from  the  hand- 
kerchief.) Oh,  well,  I  suppose  I'd  better  go,  too. 
Good  night.  (Cora  goes  out.  Tucker  hurries 
down  to  Olivia,  j 

Tucker,  (u  of  Olivia,  to  comfort  her)  I'm 
quite  sure  my  sister  did  not  mean  to  be  unkind. 
There,  now — there — there.     (Pats  her  shoulder.) 

(Mbs.  Falkner  re-appears  at  door  c,  saying  im- 
peratively) 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        45 

Mrs.  Falkner.    Solon! 
Tucker.     Yes,  my  dear. 

(Mrs.  Falkner  exits  c.  to  r.  Reluctantly  Tucker 
goes  out,  leaving  Crane  alone  with  Jane-El- 
len. Crane  goes  to  right,  then  turns  sud- 
denly to  c.  and  intercepts  Weeks  as  the  latter 
is  about  to  speak  to  Jane-Ellen,  unseen  by 
Crane.  Crane  shakes  hands  with  Weeks,  who 
exits  door  c.  After  a  pause,  outside  door  l. 
slams.) 

Crane.  Now,  see  here,  Jane  Ellen,  please  don't 
cry — please — just — ^just  as  a  favor  to  me.  Mrs. 
Falkner  has  gone. 

Warn  CURTAIN 

Jane.  Gone,  has  she?  (Suddenly  showing  a  face 
quite  innocent  of  tears,  rather  roguish,  in  fact.) 
Faith,  I'm  feelin'  better  already. 

Crane.    Jane!     What  in  the  name 

Jane.  Sure,  then,  I  suppose  herself  'u'd  V  been 
askin'  me  was  me  hair  all  me  own  next — or  was  me 
gran'father  a  dhrinkin'  man — an'  what  was  me  fa- 
vorite flower. 

Crane.    Well,  God  bless  my  soul! 

Jane.  Faith,  an'  hope  he  will,  sor.  Was  there 
anything  else,  sor? 

Crane.    No — o. 

(Jane  goes  up  c.) 

Crane.     (Hastily)    I  mean  yes — ^yesl 
Jane.    Yes,  sor.    (She  returns  to  c.) 
Crane.     Now,   Jane   Ellen,   just  one  thing.     I 
should  like  you  to  feel  perfectly  happy  here. 
Jane.     Faith,  sor,  'tis  mesilf  that's  hopin'  to. 
Crane.     So  if  there's  anything  I  can  do  to — ^to 


46         COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

make  you  feel — er — happier,  I  want  you  to  promise 
you'll  let  me  know. 

Jane.    Anything,  sor? 

Crane.     Yes,  anything-  at  all — ^anything. 

Jane,  Yes,  sor.  (Starts  up  c,  opens  door,  then 
returns  as  Crane  continues.) 

Crane.  I  mean — don't  send  the  butler,  come  to 
me — ^you — ^yourself — er — personally — and  tell  me. 
Will  you? 

Jane.    Sure  an'  I  might. 

Crane.     No,  but  will  you? 

Jane.     Yes,  sor. 

Crane.  That's  fine.  Now — now  .  .  .  I'm  sure 
we  shall  get  on  splendidly  together,  you  and  I. 
Shan't  we? 

Jane.  Faith'  that's  as  may  be,  sor,  but — ^we 
might. 

Crane.    Might?    What  do  you  mean  by  that? 

Jane.     Sure  an'  ye  niver  can  tell. 

Crane.     Eh  ? 

Jane.  Sure,  sor,  we  must  always  be  hopin'  for 
the  best.  But  we  might,  sor,  aye,  we  might.  Thank 
ye,  sor.     (Going  up  to  door,  she  exits.) 

Crane.  (Running  up  to  door,  calling)  Oh, 
cook,  cook! 

Jane.     (Appearing  at  door  r.  side)     Yis,  sor? 

Crane.  (Standing  in  door  l.  side)  About  break- 
fast— I — I  shall  want  some  breakfast. 

Jane.  Yis,  sor.  Not  till  the  mornin',  I  suppose, 
sor? 

Crane.  No,  no — yes — certainly,  not  till  in  the 
morning. 

Jane.    Some  fruit,  coffee,  toast  an'  eggs,  sor? 

Crane.    Yes,  of  course,  eggs — eggs. 

Jane.     About  three  minutes,  sor? 

Crane.    Yes — three  minutes. 

Jake.    An'  belike  a  bit  av  bacon,  sor? 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        47 

Crane.     The  very  thing. 

Jane.    Just  broiled  to  a  crisp,  sor? 

Crane.    Just  as  I  lil<e  it. 

Jane.  Very  good,  sor,  an'  ye  said  the  eggs  ten 
minutes,  sor? 

Crane.  Yes — ten  minutes.  (She  doses  door 
suddenly  and  is  out  of  sight.  Bus.  of  pulling  door 
back  to  place  finds  Jane  on  the  other  side  of  the 
knob.)    No — no — three  minutes. 

Jane.  Very  good,  sor,  but  ye  can  just  as  aisy 
have  thim  ten  minutes  as  three.  'Tis  the  water 
does  the  b'ilin' — not  me,  sor.  Good-night  to  you, 
sor.  (Exits  door  c.  to  r.,  leaving  door  open  this 
time.) 

Crane.  (In  the  doorway  c,  looking  after  her) 
Good-night,  Jane-Ellen. 

Jane.  (Outside  R.j  Good-night  and  the  top  of 
the  morning  to  ye. 

Crane.  Well,  God  bless  my  soul !  (Turns,  fac- 
ing audience,  with  a  pleased  laugh.) 


CURTAIN 


ACT   II 

Scene  :  The  kitchen. 

Time  :   Two  days  later  in  the  afternoon. 

The  kitchen  is  a  cheery  apartment  with  one  window 
R.c.  looking  into  the  garden.  There  is  a  door 
c.  into  the  garden,  which  remains  open  through- 
out the  act.  On  the  r.  are  swing  doors.  Then 
there  is  a  kitchen  cupboard,  then  below  that 
down  R.  a  sink.  A  jingle  bell  indicator  with 
numbers  one  to  six  hangs  over  the  sivin-g  doors. 
When  the  door  of  the  kitchen  cupboard  is  open 
one  sees  brooms,  mops,  etc.,  and  the  shelves 
full  of  tinned  things.  At  the  sink  is  a  hand 
pump  and  drainage  to  carry  away  water.  Up 
stage  l.  is  a  door  which  opens  on  a  passage 
which  in  turn  leads  to  the  larder.  Beloiv  it  is 
a  kitchen  range,  upon  which  stand  several 
saucepans  and  kettles,  steam  going  in  some  of 
them.  Down  l.  is  the  kitchen  hack  door  and 
upon  it  hangs  a  roller  towel.  Between  the  c. 
door  and  the  l,  corner  of  the  kitchen  is  a  dresser 
covered  with  copper  utensils,  baking  pans,  etc. 
Down  L.c.  is  a  big  kitchen  table.  Small  cane- 
bottomed  chair  between  the  dresser  and  the  pot 
rack.  Big  cane-bottomed  chair  R.  of  table.  Be- 
tween the  door  and  the  windozu  a  small  cane- 
bottomed  chair  and  a  boot  box  containing 
brushes,  rags,  etc.  There  is  a  shelf  over  the 
fireplace  for  salt,  etc.  The  curtain  rises  on  a 
few  strains  of  "Liza  Jane." 
48 


H 

o 


o 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        49 

Discovered:  Brindlebury  washing  dishes  at  sink. 
He  throws  out  water  front  dishpan,  pumps  it 
full  again  from  the  hand  pump,  and  starts  wash- 
ing more  dishes.  Paul  at  rise  is  drying  dish 
with  dish  towel,  which  he  places  on  the  drain- 
ing board  of  the  sink.  He  then  takes  tray — 
which  is  leaning  against  upper  end  of  sink — 
and  holds  it  while  Brindlebury  places  the 
washed  and  dried  dishes  on  it.  Jane-Ellen  is 
standing  l.  of  table,  slicing  sweet  potatoes  into 
baking  pan.  When  tray  is  full,  Paul  starts  to 
go,  but  is  stopped  by  Brindlebury. 

Brindlebury.  Hold  on,  butler.  You  can  take 
one  more. 

Smithfield.  Look  here,  I'm  no  juggler.  Always 
room  for  one  more  is  your  motto.  First  thing  you 
know,  you'll  make  me  spill  the  lot. 

Charles.  Oh,  run  along  now,  and  don't  talk 
back. 

Smithfield.  Well,  if  we  smash  many  more 
there  won't  be  enough  to  go  round.  (Charles 
drops  a  dish  in  the  sink.)  Lord !  Save  the  pieces ! 
(He  goes  out  R.3E.J 

Jane.  (l.  of  kitchen  table  "l.c,  slicing  sweet  po- 
tatoes into  baking  pan.)  Charley !  Mother's  best 
china !     You  must  be  careful ! 

Brindlebury.  Gee!  I  couldn't  help  it.  The 
darn  thing  slipped.  (They  resume  their  work. 
Pause.)    Heard  anything  from  Randy? 

Jane.  (Goes  to  stove  l.,  looking  at  soup  in  the 
pot)  No,  and  we  ought  to.  It's  been  two  days 
already. 

Brind.    I  reckon  he  don't  dare  to  telephone. 

Jane.  (Back  at  table)  I  rather  thought  he 
might  try  to  sneak  in  and  see  us.  (Puts  butter  on 
potatoes.) 


50        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Brind.  He'd  better  hurry  up.  I'm  beginning  to 
feel  as  though  I  needed  an  understudy. 

Jane.  (l.c.  between  table  and  stove )  You!  Oh, 
I'm  not  worried  about  you.  It's  Bess  that  bothers 
me. 

Brind.     Oh,   Bess!     She's   all   right.     She 

(He  drops  another  dish,  crashing  into  the  sink.) 

Jane.     Charley!     Well,  really 

Brind.    Gee !    I'm  sorry ! 

Jane.  I  don't  want  you  to  be  sorry.  I  want  you 
to  be  careful.  It's  a  good  thing  you  don't  have  to 
earn  your  living  washing  dishes. 

Brind.  Is  that  so!  What  am  I  doing  now,  I'd 
like  to  know?    (Breaks  another  plate  in  sink.) 

Jane.     You're  breaking  up  housekeeping. 

(Enter   Araminta,    door   R.3E.,    carrying    two   or 
three  lace  collars.) 

Jane.  Hello,  Sweetness.  What's  the  matter  now, 
honey?  (Araminta  gets  an  ironing  board  from  l. 
cupboard  and  slams  it  down  on  the  table,  then 
goes  to  the  stove  for  a  flatiron.  She  gets  a 
holder  from  upper  end  of  mantel  l.,  picks  up  the 
iron,  and  goes  to  the  ironing  board  and  begins  to 
iron  the  collars.)    And  how's  the  dragon  to-day? 

Araminta.  (Ironing)  I'd  like  to  wring  her 
neck.     (Slams  down  iron  on  collar.) 

Brind.     Oh,  naughty !  naughty ! 

Araminta.  You  shut  up!  (Charles,  startled, 
drops  plate  in  sink.)  I  guess  you'd  be  cross  too  if 
you  had  to  wait  on  that  old  hen  all  day  and  all  night. 
Nothing  ever  suits  her.  This  is  the  third  time  I've 
ironed  these  collars.     I  hope  they  choke  her! 

(Jane-Ellen   pours   syrup   in  potatoes.     Smith- 
field  re-enters  with  an  empty  tray  and  pro- 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        51 

ceeds  to  fill  it  up  with  more  freshly  washed 
dishes.) 

Jane.    But,  Bess,  dear! 

Araminta.  (Imitating  Mrs.  F.)  "My  good 
girl"  this  and  "my  good  girl"  that!  If  she's  what 
they  call  a  lady  up  North,  I'd  like  to  see  what  they 
call  the  other  thing!  (To  Jane,  who  goes  to  the 
stove  L.,  business  with  pots,  kettles,  etc.)  Oh,  I'm 
in  it  because  you  dragged  me  in,  but  I  give  you  fair 
warning,  if  Randy  Weeks  doesn't  produce  those 
servants  pretty  quick,  I'm  through.  I  can  stand 
just  about  twenty-four  hours  more  of  that  old  hen, 
and  that's  all. 

Smith.  (Coming  up  a  little  R.c.)  See  here. 
Bess,  you  don't  seem  to  understand 

Araminta.  Oh,  dry  up!  All  you  have  to  do  is 
to  serve  her  meals.  How'd  you  like  to  hook  her 
up?  (Charley  laughs.  Jane-Ellen  fills  a  cup 
with  hot  water  from  kettle  and  pours  it  on  potatoes.) 

Jane.  (To  upper  end  of  table,  to  Araminta) 
I  know,  honey,  I  know  it's  very  hard,  but  it  wont 
last  long.  And  I  daresay  you  are  rather  trying. 
You  always  forget  the  tea  strainer  from  her  break- 
fast tray,  or  you  don't  remember  to  call  her  at  eight 
— or  something.  You're  not  very  competent.  (Goes 
to  door  L.  and  wipes  her  hand  on  towel.) 

Araminta.  Competent!  Of  course  I'm  not. 
Why  on  earth  should  I  be  competent  ? 

Jane.  No,  dear,  of  course  not.  Only,  you  see, 
she  doe=*^'^  know  that.  And  I  do  think  you  might 
remember  the  tea-strainer. 

Araminta.  Well,  it's  more  trouble  to  me  than 
to  her.  Don't  I  have  to  chase  downstairs  and  get 
it?  Competent!  (She  slams  the  flatiron  viciously 
on  the  table.)    I  wish  I  had  her  here,  I'd  iron  her! 

Jane.     Bess,  dear,  I  don't  see  how  you  can — 


52         COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

when  you  know  what's  at  stake.     Why,  at  this  very 

moment  dear  old  daddy  may  be (She  chokes 

up  and  stops  and  puts  the  towel  hanging  on  door 
L.IE.  to  her  eyes.) 

Smith.  I  say,  sis,  that's  a  towel,  not  a  hand- 
kerchief. 

Araminta.  (Going  to  her  in  contrition)  Oh,  I 
know,  Livy.  I'm  a  pig — ^but  if  I'm  a  pig,  she's  a 
cat!     (Jane  puts  pan  of  potatoes  in  oven.) 

Brind.  She's  a  dragon,  a  hen,  and  a  cat.  Some 
menagerie !    (A  bell  rings.) 

Smith.  (Looking  at  the  indicator  on  the  wall) 
Number  4,  Bess. 

Araminta.  (Puts  down  iron,  starts  across  to 
door  R.3E.J  There  she  goes  again !  I  don't  see  how 
that  bell  stands  it.  (Seising  the  collars,  now  ironed, 
and  starting  for  the  door.)  If  she  doesn't  look  out, 
I  zvill  steal  her  silk  stockings.  (She  goes  out  R.3E. 
angrily.    Jane  resumes  work  at  table.) 

Smith.  (About  to  depart  with  the  dishes)  She 
sure  is  a  pretty  nasty  old  party  and  no  mistake. 

Brind.  She's  no  worse  than  old  Tucker.  I'd 
like  to  poison  him. 

Jane.  (Ironically)  Things  run  in  the  family, 
don't  they?  Now  we're  all  so  good-natured,  aren't 
we?  (The  bell  rings  again.  To  Smith. j  That's 
your  bell,  Paul.    (Takes  tray  from  Smithfield.j 

Smith.  (Looking  at  the  indicator)  Number  2. 
(Assuming  his  servanfs  manner)  Very  good,  sir. 
You  said  "Go  to  hell,"  sir?  Thank  you,  sir!  Af- 
ter you,  sir.    (He  goes  out,  R.3.J 

Jane.  (Charley  breaks  plate  in  sink.)  Oh, 
Charley!  Take  this  tray  into  the  butler's  pantry, 
and  for  heaven's  sake,  don't  drop  it !  (As  Brindle- 
BURY  goes  ou>t  he  stumbles.  After  exit  rattling  of 
plates  heard  off.)  And  please  do  try  not  to  break 
any  more.    (Left  alone,  she  puts  the  ironing  board 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        53 

back  up  L.c.  and  puts  iron  back  on  stove.  Randy 
Weeks  furtively  opens  the  kitchen  door  down  l. 
and  walks  in.  Jane  crosses  to  l.^  above  table  to 
stove.)    Randy ! 

Weeks.    (Comes  to  c.)    Hello,  Livy! 

Jane.  Any  news?  Have  you  got  them?  Are 
they  coming?  Oh,  do  say  they  are!  (She  clutches 
his  arm  excitedly.) 

Weeks.    Yes,  I  think  so! 

Jane.  Oh,  Randy,  you  are  a  darling !  (She  goes 
out  door  up  L.  for  a  moment.) 

Weeks.  But  not  'till  Tuesday.  (Crosses  to  r.  of 
table.) 

Jane.  Tuesday?  That's  three  days  more.  (Re- 
turns with  chicken  and  puts  it  on  kitchen  table.) 

Weeks.  Couldn't  get  'em  a  minute  sooner,  and  I 
think  you're  lucky  at  that.  White  servants  willing 
to  come  to  the  country  are  scarce  this  season.  How 
are  things  going? 

Jane.  I  reckon  we'll  pull  through  if  Bess  doesn't 
explode.  She  doesn't  care  very  much  for  the  chap- 
eron. (Takes  baking  tin  from  lower  shelf  of  pot 
rack  and  puts  it  on  kitchen  table.) 

Weeks.  (Laughs.)  Don't  blame  her.  Snob!  I 
say,  Livy,  are  you  glad  to  see  me? 

Jane.  Never  gladder  to  see  anybody.  (Putting 
chicken  in  baking  pan.) 

Weeks.     Prove  it. 

Jane.  All  right.  As  a  mark  of  my  special  favor, 
I  will  allow  you  to  freeze  the  ice  cream.  (Points 
to  freezer  on  the  floor,  table  end  at  L.) 

Weeks.  (Sarcastically)  Livy,  that's  perfectly 
splendid  of  you.     (Taking  freezer.) 

Jane.  Now,  don't  grumble.  Go  to  work !  (Takes 
pepper  and  salt  cellars  from  lower  end  of  mantel- 
piece and  places  them  on  table.) 

Weeks.     I  don't  know  that  I'm  so  crazy  about 


54         COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 


I 


freezing  Crane's  ice  cream.  (Sits  in  chair  r.  of 
table.  Takes  out  his  handkerchief  to  hold  freeser 
handle.) 

Jane.  And  Mr.  Tucker's,  too.  Don't  forget 
him. 

Weeks.  (Beginning  to  turn  the  crank  of  the 
freezer)     Tucker !     Humph ! 

Jane.  (Relapsing  into  her  brogue  and  beginning 
deliberately  to  tease  him)  Faith,  then,  he's  my  fa- 
vorite. He's  what  you  might  call  a  verile,  dominat- 
ing personality.  (Salts  and  peppers  chicken.  But- 
ters chicken.) 

Weeks.    Humph !    (He  turns  the  crank  angrily.) 

Jane.  No,  no,  no,  no!  (Weeks  stops  turning.) 
Don't  ye  be  turnin'  so  fast,  ye'll  be  spoiling  the  des- 
sert entirely,  so  ye  will. 

Weeks.  Look  here.  Do  you  mean  to  say  this 
man  Tucker  comes  into  the  kitchen? 

Jane.  Not  yet.  (Gets  flour  in  cup  from  flour 
barrel  up  l.c.^ 

Weeks.     Not  yet !     (Jumps  up.) 

Jane.  A  strong  man,  me  dear.  Sure,  he  looks 
like  the  husband  on  the  stage  wid  a  dash  o'  powder 
over  the  ear.     (Flours  the  chicken.) 

Weeks.  (Leaving  the  freezer  and  going  to  Jane 
above  table)  My  dear  girl,  you're  not  going  to  let 
this  man  make  love  to  you? 

Jane.  Sure  it's  not  always  aisy  to  prevent.  (Gets 
cup  of  hot  water  from  kettle.) 

Weeks.  (Above  l.  table)  You've  always  pre- 
vented me  as  often  as  you  wanted  to. 

Jane.    Often — ^but  not  as  often  as  that. 

Weeks.  Oh,  come  now,  drop  the  Irish.  (He 
makes  a  movement  toward  her.) 

Jane.  Sure,  I  need  the  practice.  Now,  then,  you 
get  along  back  to  the  ice  cream.  (Pours  water  in 
chicken  pan.)     Sure,  if  all's  not  well  with  the  din- 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        55 

ner,  that  awful  ould  woraan'U  be  havin'  us  all  thrown 
out,  so  she  will  now. 

Weeks.  (Turns  freezer  slowly)  They  say  Crane 
is  supposed  to  be  engaged  to  her  daughter. 

Jane.  (After  slight  pause  she  puts  chicken  in 
oven.)  Faith,  then,  I  don't  envy  him  his  mother- 
in-law.     (Slams  the  oven  door.) 

Weeks.  Er — what  do  you  think  of  Crane?  (A 
pause  and  stops  freezing.)  I  say — what  do  you 
think  of  Crane?  (Leans  both  elbows  on  table  cor- 
ner.) 

Jane.  Oh,  the  man's  well  enough.  (Puts  dishes 
she  has  been  using  in  sink.) 

Weeks.  You  know,  you're  a  funny  girl.  Now, 
I  always  thought (Rises.) 

Jane.  (Waving  him  to  the  freezer)  Freeze — 
freeze!     (Weeks  sits  again.) 

Weeks.  Eh!  (With  a  sigh)  Oh,  Lord!  You 
know  perfectly  well  you  can  do  anything  in  the 
world  with  me.  (He  turns  the  freezer  jerkily.  Jane 
crosses  to  closet  r.2E.  and  gets  Royal  Baking  Powder 
can  and  cooking  spoon.     She  returns  to  table  L.c.^ 

Jane.  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear !  Not  that  way.  It 
ought  to  be  a  steady  and  even — here — let  me  show 
you —  (She  kneels  r.  of  him  by  the  freezer  and 
begins  to  turn  the  crank.)     See — ^like  this — slow — 

like (As  she  turns,  Weeks  looks  admiringly 

at  her.)    Then — like  that.    Do  you  see  what  I 

(Weeks  puts  his  handkerchief  on  his  knee.  As  she 
turns,  he  kisses  her.  With  a  swift,  savage  move- 
ment she  breaks  from  his  arms  and — stands  pant- 
ing and  glaring  at  him.  Weeks  drops  initialed 
handkerchief  near  toble  L.c.) 

Jane.  (With  cooking  spoon  in  hand — after  a 
pause.)  Randy  Weeks,  you  go  home,  and  don't 
ever  come  back !    (Crosses  to  r.) 

Weeks,    (l.c.)    Oh,  my  dear 


56        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 


Jane,    (r.c.)    Go  home!    (She  stamps  her  foot.) 
Weeks.    Do  you  mean  it?     (Weeks  half  turns 
to  go.) 
Jane.     I  do — oh,  I  do ! 

(Tucker  is  strolling  past  door  c,   hears  voices, 
stops  and  listens.    He  cannot  see  Weeks.) 

Weeks.  The  fact  is,  you're  a  cold,  heartless  little 
flirt,  who  thinks  of  nothing  but  herself.  You  don't 
care  a  bit  what  other  people  suffer.  Bess  is  worth 
ten  of  you. 

Jane.    Go  and  kiss  her,  then. 

Weeks.  She  wouldn't  stand  it.  She's  not  that 
sort. 

Jane.  (A  few  steps  toward  him,  furious)  But 
I  am!  I  stand  it,  do  I?  If  I  could,  I'd  thrash  you. 
As  it  is,  I  hate  you ! 

Weeks.  (At  bottom  of  table,  sulkily)  It's  your 
own  fault.    You  tempted  me. 

Jane.     Tempted  you! 

Weeks.    Yes,  and  you  know  it. 

Jane.  How  did  I  know  you  were  going  to  be  so 
silly? 

Weeks.    You've  always  pretended  to  like  me. 

Jane.     That's  just  what  I  did — pretend. 

Weeks.  You'll  be  sorry  for  saying  that  (Crosses 
to  L.) 

Jane.    I  won't! 

Weeks.  Yes,  you  will.  I  pity  the  man  who  mar- 
ries you ! 

Jane.    You'd  marry  me  to-morrow  if  you  could. 

Weeks.    I  would  not ! 

Jane.    You  would! 

Weeks.  Not  if  you  were  the  last  woman  in  the 
world ! 


^ 

t.)  m 


^ 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        57 

Jane.     Randy  Weeks,  you  go  home!     (Weeks 
exits  L.iE.  and  slams  door.) 

(Jane  laughs  and  picks  up  handkerchief  that 
Weeks  has  dropped,  looks  at  it  and  tosses  it 
into  chair  l.c.  Puts  freezer  under  table, 
crosses  in  front  of  table.  Tucker,  hearing  the 
door  slam  on  Weeks'  exit,  thinks  of  entering 
kitchen.  He  looks  cautiously  to  r.  and  l.  Just 
as  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  enter,  Olivia 
drops  Weeks'  handkerchief  into  chair,  and 
Charlie  enters  R.3  with  pair  of  boots.  Tucker 
steps  back.) 

Charlie.    I  forgot  the  old  geezer's  boots. 

(Tucker  glares  at  him  and  exits  to  r.,  giving  him 
another  look  of  disapproval  as  he  passes  win- 
dow. While  Charlie  polishes  boots  with 
brush  and  rag  which  he  takes  from  boot  box 
under  window,  he  whistles  "Liza  Jane."  Jane- 
Ellen  goes  out  of  door  up  l.,  returning  and 
bringing  a  bowl  of  cornmeal  and  a  bowl  of  eggs 
and,  lastly,  a  jug  of  milk.  These  she  places  on 
kitchen  table.) 

Jane.    Is  that  all? 

(At  this  moment  No.  3  bell  rings.  Charlie  slam^ 
down  lid  of  boot  box  and  exits,  polishing  one 
boot  on  seat  of  his  trousers.  Jane-Ellen  takes 
syrup  jar  from  table  and  crosses  r.  to  cup- 
board and  puts  it  on  shelf.  Then  to  range.  As 
she  crosses.  Tucker,  seeing  she  is  alone,  comes 
into  kitchen.  Jane-Ellen  has  been  singing 
*'Li3a  Jane,"  but  seeing  Tucker  out  of  the  cor- 
ner of  her  eye,  changes  to  "The  Pretty  Girl 


58        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Milking  the  Cow."    At  the  end  of  the  verse  she 
turns  and  seniles  at  Tucker  J 

Tucker.    Good  afternoon,  Jane-Ellen. 

Jane.  The  top  av  it  to  you,  sor.  (Turns  from 
stove,  small  saucepan  in  hand,  to  l.  of  table.) 

Tucker.    (Down  a  step)    I  hope  I  don't  intrude. 

Jane.  Oh,  sir,  I  see  'tis  an  optimist  ye  are. 
(Takes  a  wooden  spoon  from  table  and  stirs  sauce- 
pan.) 

Tucker.  (At  c,  with  a  superior  smile)  Ahem! 
What  can  you  possibly  know  of  optimists,  my  girl  ? 

Jane.  Sure,  an  optimist  is  a  man  that  looks 
after  your  eyes.  (Brings  saucepan  to  table,  still 
stirring.) 

Tucker.  (Going  to  table,  putting  his  l,  hand 
on  it,  leaning  toward  her)  Jane-Ellen,  I  fear  you 
have  a  frivolous  mind. 

Jane.  Oh,  sor,  indade  an*  indade,  I  hope  not. 
(As  she  speaks,  she  stops  stirring  sauce  pan  and 
straightens  up  vinth  the  spoon  in  her  hand.  Puts 
spoon  on  Tucker's  hand.) 

Tucker.  (Starting  with  the  pain)  Ouch! 
(Moves  to  L.c.^  round  chair  to  upper  corner  table.) 

Jane.  Oh,  sor,  an'  did  I  bum  you?  'Tis  that 
sorry  I  am,  sor!  (Puts  saucepan  back  on  stove, 
stirring  sauce.) 

Tucker.  It's  nothing!  It's  nothing!  I  was  go- 
ing to  say  that — despite  a  certain  lamentable  tend- 
ency towards  frivolity  which  I  observe  in  your  nature 
— I — well,  I  am  an  older  man  than  your  employer. 
(Moving  up  to  back  of  table.) 

Jane.     (Cheerfully)     Oh,  yes,  sor,  much  oulder. 

Tucker.  Ahem !  Well,  older,  at  all  events.  I 
have  seen  more  of  life  and  perhaps  understand  more 
thoroughly  the  difficulties  which  beset  a  young  and, 
I  must  say,  pretty  woman. 


i 


CD,MP  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        59 

Jane.  (At  stove,  innocently)  Why  nrnst  3rou 
say  that,  sor? 

Tucker.  Why,  Jane-Ellen,  because  it  is  the 
truth.  (Moves  above  table.)  Ah,  my  dear  child — 
(He  approaches  her.  She  seises  a  steaming  copper 
kettle  from  stove  and  hands  it  to  him.) 

Jane.  Will  ye  kindly  be  holding  that?  The 
stove  is  that  crowded.     (As  he  hesitates.) 

(Tucker  takes  kettle.  Finding  it  hot,  changes  it 
from  one  hand  to  the  other.  Going  c,  Jane 
busies  herself  at  stove.  Tucker  looks  anx- 
iously out  of  door  to  see  if  anybody  is  likely  to 
catch  him,  in  that  predicam,ent.) 

Jane.    Yes,  sor,  ye  were  about  to  say 

Tucker.  (Going  to  back  of  table)  Oh,  yes! 
Merely  that  if  any  little  trouble  should  arise  in  the 
household,  I  would  like  to  know  that  you  look  upon 
me  as  a  friend.  I  should  be  glad  to  do  you  a  good 
turn. 

Jane.  Indade,  then,  you  can  do  me  that  same 
good  turn  right  now. 

Tucker.  (Beaming  at  her)  My  dear  child,  you 
have  only  to  name  it. 

Jane.    Ye  can  be  afther  turnin'  yer  back  on  me. 

Tucker.    You — you  wish  me  to  go? 

Jane.  Sure ;  the  kitchen  is  no  place  for  the  likes 
of  a  gintleman. 

Tucker.  (Chuckles  a  moment,  and  then  says) 
Did  you  think  so  ten  minutes  ago?  (He  looks  at 
door  through  which  Weeks  m,ade  exit.  She  gives 
him  a  quick  look  before  she  answers.) 

Jane.  (Going  towards  the  stove)  Sure  that 
sauce  is  b'iling  over.  The  divil  and  all  is  in  that 
stove.  The  minute  I  turn  me  back  something  b'iles 
over.     Will  ye  be  holdin'  this,  sor?     (She  thrusts 


6o        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

copper  saucepan  into  his  l.  hand  and  begins  to 
stir  it.) 

Tucker.    I'll  try. 

Jane.  (Tastes  the  contents  of  the  saucepan) 
Sure  I'm  thinkin'  'twill  be  needin'  a  trifle  more  salt. 
(She  sprinkles  salt  into  pan  and,  unseen  by  Tucker, 
sprinkles  salt  over  his  l.  shoulder  and  l.  arm.) 

Tucker.     Really,   I (Tucker  realises  his 

undignified  position  and  looks  r,  and  l.  j 

Jane.  Oh,  sure,  your  honor's  got  a  bit  of  a  dab 
av  soot  on  yer  face.  Hould  still  while  I  git  a  rag 
and  wipe  it  off.  There.  (Gets  burnt  cork  with  a 
cloth  from  the  stove — she  gives  his  r.  cheek  a  dab 
with  the  holder  and  now  he  has  indeed  a  black 
smear  on  his  cheek.) 

Tucker.  (Both  hands  full,  cannot  help  himself) 
Thank  you,  thank  you  very  much,  Jane-Ellen. 

Jane.  God  bless  us  an'  save  us,  sure  there's  an- 
other little  bit  on  your  honor's  chin.  (She  gives  his 
other  cheek  a  smear  of  black.)    There,  now  .  .  . 

Tucker.  Look  here,  young  woman,  really,  I 
thank  you  very  much. 

Jane.  Don't  mention  it,  sir.  Faith,  someone'd 
sure  to  be  askin'  where  your  honor'd  been  with 
that  face  on  you. 

Tucker.     Yes,  yes,  yes — exactly.    That's  why — 

if  you  don't  mind  taking  these (Tucker,  still 

holding  bowls,  reminded  that  some  one  might  come 
in  and  catch  him.) 

Jane.  Sorry,  sor,  I  will — ^but  just  half  a  minute, 
sor 

(Enter  Brindlebury  at  r.3e.^ 

Brindlebury.     I  say,  Livy (He  advances 

"&.,  stops  short  as  Tucker  turns,  then  bursts  into  a 
giggle  at  the  sight.) 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        6i 

Tucker.  (Crossing  majestically  to  him)  May 
I  ask  what  is  the  cause  of  this  unseemly  mirth? 

Brindlebury.  (Leaning  against  sink,  convulsed 
with  laughter)  Yes,  sir,  certainly  you  may  ask. 
Mr.  Crane  is  just  coming"  up  the  drive  in  the  motor. 

Tucker.  (Stiffly,  frightened  at  the  idea  of 
Crane  catching  him.)  I  do  not  see  the  connection. 
(Goes  to  table  l.J  But  perhaps  I  had  better  go 
and  meet  him.  (Puts  kettle  and  pot  on  table  l.  and 
goes  up  c.) 

Brindlebury.  (Near  stool  r.,  now  no  longer 
amused,  but  getting  angry.  Looking  at  his  sister) 
Yes;  I  think  I  would  if  I  were  you.  It  seems  to 
me  there  are  altogether  too  many  men  in  this 
kitchen. 

Tucker,  (Starts  to  leave  the  room  c,  then 
stops  near  door  c,  with  as  much  dignity  as  he  can 
muster)     Boy 

Brindlebury.    Well !     (Threateningly.) 

Tucker.    Are  you  speaking  to  me?    (Mildly) 

(Jane  m^ves  to  r.  of  table.     Has  small  saucepan 
in  hand.) 

Brindlebury.  Yes.  (Goes  up  to  Tucker,  his 
fists  clenched.  Very  pointedly)  I  just  wanted  to 
tell  you  that  Jane-Ellen  is  my  sister. 

Tucker.  Indeed !  Well,  Brindy,  I  can't  confess 
to  taking  any  deep  interest  in  your  family  relations. 
(Down  c.  a  step.) 

Brindlebury.  Apparently  you've  taken  enough 
interest  in  one  of  'em  to  come  to  the  kitchen  to 
talk  to  her,  and  I  won't  have  it. 

Jane.  (Motions  reproof  unseen  by  Tuckerj 
Brindy,  don't 

Tucker.  (Comes  down)  How  dare  you  talk 
to  me  in  this 


62        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Brindlebury.  (Raising  his  fist  and  stepping 
forward  as  if  to  strike  Tucker^  You  get  out  of 
this  kitchen,  or  I'll 

Jane.  Brindy,  what  are  you  doin'?  (Crosses 
and  pushes  Brindlebury  down  r.) 

Brindlebury.  I  know  what  I'm  doing,  all 
right.     (Sulkily  going  down  r.) 

Jane.  (On  r.  of  Tucker j  Faith,  sor,  'tis  very 
ashamed  I  am  an'  all — but  your  honor  will  plaze 
to  remimber  he's  nothing  but  a  lad. 

Tucker,  (l.)  He  is  quite  old  enough  to  know 
better. 

Brindlebury.  (Turning  on  him)  How  about 
you  ?    You  old  chimpanzee ! 

Jane.  Sure,  sor,  I  hope  ye  can  see  yer  way  to 
forgivin'  him — an'  him  on'y  a  poor,  hard-workin' 
lad  like  he  is,  an' — an'  so  sorry  an'  all 

Tucker.     (Up  c.)     He  doesn't  look  very  sorry. 

Brindlebury.    No,  and  I'm  not  sorry,  either. 

Tucker.  There,  you  see.  (Walking  up  to 
door.)  I  shall  certainly  report  him  to  his  em- 
ployer. 

Jane.     Now  see  what  you've  done. 

Tucker.     Precisely. 

Brindlebury.    I  don't  care.     I'm  glad  of  it. 

Jane.    Glad  of  it. 

Brindlebury.  I  don't  care.  D'you  reckon  I'm 
going  to  have  that  old  chimpanzee  coming  in  here 
making  love  to  you? 

Tucker.     (Indignantly)     Old  chimpanzee! 

Jane.  Oh,  I  suppose,  if  Mr.  Crane  was  to  come 
in  now,  ye'd  be  throwin'  the  flatirons  at  him.  I 
redcon  I  can  be  takin'  care  av  mesilf.  Faith,  don't 
ye  suppose  I've  iver  been  made  love  to  before? 

Brindlebury.    We — ell,  yes,  I  reckon  you  have! 

Crane.     (Off)     Hullo,  Tuck? 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        63 

(Jane-Ellen  runs  off  through  door  up  l.  Crane 
and  Cora  appear  on  the  veranda.  They  are 
about  to  pass  by  when  Crane  glances  in  and 
sees  Tucker.  Crane  and  Cora  enter  the 
kitchen.  As  they  do  so  Brindlebury  says 
"Oh,  gee!"  and  dashes  out  at  R.3EJ 

Crane.  Well,  Tuck,  we've  been  searching  that 
house  for  you.  (Tucker  moves  to  lower  end  of 
table,  facing  audience.  Crane  puts  his  hat  on 
chair  r.  of  door  c.     They  come  down  c.) 

Tucker.  (Embarrassed)  Have  you? — and  I've 
been  looking  for  you  everywhere. 

Crane.     (Accusingly)     Even  in  the  kitchen. 

(Crane  and  Cora  see  his  sfnut-covered  face  and 
begin  to  laugh.) 

Tucker.     (Indignantly)     I  beg  your  pardon? 

Crane.  Good  Lord!  Tuck,  what  have  you  got 
on  your  face? 

Cora.  (Crosses  to  TuckerJ  Oh,  Uncle  Solon! 
Have  you  been  in  the  coal-bin? 

Tucker.  (Very  angry)  What  is  it?  What  is 
it?     What  is  it? 

Crane.     Have  you  been  kissing  the  stove? 

Tucker.     Really,  Burton (Starts  to  go  to 

Crane,  but  is  stopped  by  Cora, J 

Cora.  Why,  Uncle,  you're  all  smeared  up. 
Here,  do  let  me  wipe  your  face.  (She  wipes  away 
the  soot  with  handkerchief  which  she  has  taken 
from  his  coat  pocket,  making  it  worse.)  There — 
there — that's  better!  (Tucker,  thinking  it  better, 
resumes  his  dignity.) 

Crane.     Really,  Tuck!     Where  have  you  been? 

Tucker.  I — er — really,  I  can't  imagine.  (To 
CoRAJ     I  am  obliged  to  you,  my  dear.     (Goes  L. 


64        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Suddenly  remembering  Brindlebury's  insult)  I 
have  something  to  say  to  Burton  that  I  think  you'd 
better  not  hear. 

Cora.  Oh,  how  interesting!  I'll  go,  anyway.  I 
promised  mother  I'd  go  for  a  walk.  (She  goes  up 
to  doorway) 

Crane.  May  I  go,  too?  (Moves  up  c.  near 
door.) 

Cora.    Of  course. 

Crane.     Good,  I  won't  be  long. 

Cora.  All  right.  Burton.  (She  goes  out  on  the 
veranda  and  disappears  R.J 

Crane.      Well,    Tuck?      (Coming    down    c    to 

TUCKER.J 

Tucker.  I  must  ask  you  to  dismiss  that  boy  at 
once. 

Crane.     Who,  Brindy? 

Tucker.    Yes. 

Crane.     Good  Lord!     What  for? 

Tucker.    He  has  been  grossly  insolent  to  me. 

Crane.    Really ! 

Tucker.  In  addition  to  which,  he  attempted  to 
strike  me. 

Crane.     Tuck!     You  don't  mean  it? 

Tucker.     Unfortunately,  I  do! 

Crane.  My  dear  Tuck!  (He  is  torn  between 
his  displeasure  with  the  boy  and  his  exasperation 
at  Tucker. j  Well,  of  course,  the  boy '11  have  to 
go.     How  did  it  happen? 

Tucker.  (Moving  a  bit  down  l.,  then  up  to 
Cranej  Well — you  see,  I — I  was  in  the  kitchen — 
Do  you  know,  the  boy  somehow  acquired  the  ex- 
traordinary idea  that  I  had  been  making  love 
the  cook. 

Crane.    Absurd ! 

Tucker.     Naturally ! 

Crane.    A  man  of  your  age! 


o 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        65 

Tucker.  (Not  altogether  pleased)  I  beg  your 
pardon.  And  you  may  be  interested  to  know  that 
he  distinctly  stated  that  the  cook  was  his  sister. 

Crane.  Nonsense,  she  can't  be.  She's  Irish! 
(Moves  a  little  down  stage  r.J 

Tucker.  (Turning  and  going  up  stage,  looking 
through  door  L.)  E — yes — maybe  she  is — maybe. 
(Moves  down  to  end  of  table.) 

Crane.  Look  here,  Tuck,  what  the  devil  were 
you  doing  in  the  kitchen? 

Tucker.  (Coming  l.  to  Crane,  embarrassed) 
Well,  I — happened  to  be  passing  the  kitchen  door, 
when  I  heard  the  voices  of  Jane-Ellen  and  some 
young  man  who,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  was  making 
love  to  her. 

Crane.     Anybody  you  know? 

Tucker.  Well,  I  was  unable  to  identify  him, 
but  I  fancy  that  he — er — must  have  kissed  her. 

Crane.     The  lucky  dog!     (Turning  dozvn  r.) 

Tucker.  (Severely)  I  do  not  think  that  this  is 
quite  the  proper  attitude  for  you  to  take. 

Crane.  Wliat  do  you  suggest?  (Turning  to 
Tucker,  j 

Tucker.  The  girl  should  be  dismissed,  of 
course. 

Crane.     Oh,  you  think  so? 

Tucker.     Certainly  I  do.     (Turns  down  L.) 

Crane.    I  see. 

Smithfield.  (Enters  r.^e.)  Beg  pardon,  sir. 
(Smithfield  comes  down  r.  to  sink.) 

Crane.  Smithfield,  Mr.  Tucker  tells  me  that 
Brindy  attempted  to  strike  him,  after  using  insult- 
ing language.  By  the  way,  Tuck,  what  did  he  call 
you  precisely? 

Tucker.  Ahem!  I — ah — I  believe  he  referred 
to  me  as  an  old  chimpanzee!  (Smithfield  laughs 
and  busies  himself  at  sink.) 


€6        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Crane.  (Choking  down  a  lamgh)  You  see, 
Smithfield 

Smith  FIELD.  Yes,  sir,  I  can't  seem  to  break 
that  boy  of  the  habit  of  exagg-eration.  (Tucker 
glares  at  Smithfield  and  walks  furiously  up  stage 
to  R.  of  door  c.) 

Crane.  You'll  dismiss  the  boy  at  once.  (Smith- 
field  protests.)  See  that  he  packs  up  and  is  off 
the  premises  in  an  hour.  And  now  I  want  to  speak 
to  the  cook.  (Goes  up  stage  to  dresser.  He  looks 
towards  door  leading  to  the  ice-box  l.3E.^ 

Smithfield.    Here,  sir? 

Crane.     Certainly. 

Smithfield,  (Fllows  up  r.c.  a  Utile)  Beg  par- 
don, sir,  but  cook  is  lying  down. 

Crane.  (Having  seen  Jane  through  door)  Eh, 
who  did  you  say  was  lying? 

Smithfield.  (Blandly)  Cook,  sir.  Lying  down 
to  rest,  sir. 

Crane.    Ah,  in  the  ice-box,  I  suppose. 

(Enter  Jane-Ellen  from  L.3E.    Goes  to  range  and 
examines  saucepans.) 

Smithfield.  Beg  pardon,  sir.  My  mistake, 
sir. 

Crane.     That  will  do,  Smithfield. 

Smithfield.  Yes,  sir.  Thank  you,  sir.  (He 
retires,  but  is  seen  behind  swinging  doors  R.3.E.,  lis- 
tening.) 

Tucker.  (Comes  down  stage)  Shall  I  stay  and 
assist  you.  Burton? 

Crane.     No,  thanks.  Tuck,  please  go. 

Tucker,  Oh,  very  well,  very  well.  (He  starts 
to  go.) 

Crane.  (Sees  a  man's  handkerchief  in  the  chair 
L,c.,  looks  at  it.    This  your  handkerchief,  Tuck? 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        ej 

Tucker.  (Examines  it  and  gives  it  back.)  No, 
Burton,  no,  no — "R.  W."  As  you  see,  those  are 
not  my  initials.     (He  goes  out.) 

(Crane  examines  the  initials,  starts,  controls  him- 
self, glances  at  the  cook  and  puts  the  hand- 
kerchief into  pocket.  He  leans  o"".  hack  of 
chair.) 

Jane.  (Moving  to  l.  of  table)  Yourself  was 
afther  wantin'  me,  Misther  Crane? 

Crane.     Er — yes — Jane-Ellen,  the  fact  is,  I 

(Sees  Smithfield  peeping  through  pantry  door.) 
That  will  do,  Smithfield. 

Smithfield.  Er — yes,  sir,  certainly,  sir.  (He 
goes  out  reluctantly.) 

Crane.  Jane-Ellen,  I  suppose  you  can  guess 
what  I  am  going  to  say? 

Jane.     The  luncheon  was  not  satisfactory,  sor? 

Crane.  It  was  perfect.  The  trouble  is  about 
what  happened  after  luncheon. 

Jane.  Oh,  sor,  an'  was  it  my  fault  now  that 
Mr.  Tucker  would  be  comin'  in  the  kitchen? 

Crane.  I'm  not  talking  about  that.  You  had  a 
previous  visitor,  I  believe. 

Jane.     Yes — yes,  sor.     ('l.  of  table.) 

Crane.  (Hesitates  throughout  scene)  Jane- 
Ellen,  I  do  not  approve  of  young  men  coming  into 
my  house  and  kissing  the  cook — not — well,  not 
strangers,  anyhow.     (Moves  to  c.  a  little.) 

Jane.  Yes,  sor,  'tis  meself  quite  agrees  with 
your  honor. 

Crane.  You  mean  to  imply,  perhaps,  that  it  was 
not  your  fault? 

Jane.  I'm  thinkin',  sGr,  that  in  your  class  oi 
life,  sor,  no  gintleman  is  iver  kissin'  a  girl  against 
her  will. 


68        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Crane.  Ahem!  Well,  he  shouldn't.  I  don't 
want  to  seem  to  offer  you  advice 

Jane.  Faith,  then,  I  should  be  pleased  if  ye 
would  do  that,  sor.  Advice  is  wan  av  the  few 
things  a  gintleman  may  offer  a  girl  in  my  position 
an'  she  accept  wid  a  clear  conscience. 

Crane.  Ahem!  Well,  then,  if  I  were  you,  I 
wouldn't  have  a  young  man  like  that  hanging 
around  unless  he  intended  to  marry  you. 

Jane.  Sure,  sor,  there's  no  doubt  av  his  Inten- 
tions. 

Crane,  (r.  of  table)  Then  he's  proposed  to 
you? 

Jane.  (l.  of  table)  Almost  every  time  he  sees 
me  till  to-day. 

Crane.    But  not  today?    Eh? 

Jane.  To-day,  sor,  faith  to-day  he  said  he'd  not 
wed  me  if  I  was  the  last  woman  in  the  world. 

Crane.    And  what  did  you  think  of  that? 

Jane.     Sure,  sor,  I  thought  it  wasn't  true. 

Crane.  (Turns  back  at  r.c.J  Ahem!  I  .  .  . 
I  .  .  .  daresay  you  were  right.  Still,  I  can't  see 
why  you  let  him  kiss  you,  if  you  didn't  .  .  . 

Jane.  (She  comes  front  of  table  end)  If  your 
honor  pleases,  'tis  not  always  possible  to  prevent. 
You  see,  sor,  I'm  not  so  terrible  big. 

Crane.  Ah,  yes,  that — now  that  you  mention  it 
— that  is  true.  Is  the  young  man  able  to  support 
you? 

Jane,     I  think  he  is,  sor. 

Crane.    And  yet  you  don't 

Jane,  No,  sor.  Ye  see,  sor,  I've  not  the  honor 
to  love  him. 

Crane.  (Steps  on  two  to  r.  side  of  table)  Do 
you  mean  you'd  rather  work  for  your  living  than 
marry  a  man  you  didn't  love? 

Jane.     (Solemnly)     Faith,  sor,  I  would  rather 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        69 

(fie.  (Crane  looks  at  her.  She  meets  his  gase. 
His  eyes  are  the  first  to  fall.  A  long  pause.)  Will 
that  be  all,  sor? 

Crane.  Yes,  that's  all.  (Goes  up  c.  to  door. 
Turns  and  sees  her  watching  him.) 

Jane.     Thank  ye,  sor! 

Crane.  (Goes  to  door)  If  that  young  man 
comes  bothering  around  you  again,  just  you  let  mc 
know  and  I'll  settle  him. 

Jane,  Faith — (Tossing  her  head) — he'll  not  be 
back — fCRANE  laughs.  She  pauses) — for  a  couple 
of  days. 

Crane.  What!  Oh!  (Crane  goes  out  door 
c.)  I  see.  (Jane  stands  still  in  front  of  table 
wondering.) 

(Smithfield  opens  door  R.3  gradually,  listening. 
Comes  in,  then  comes  down  c.) 

Smithfield.  Say,  Livy,  did  Crane  tell  you  he's 
fired  Charley? 

Jane.    No.    (Comes  to  him.) 

Smithfield.     Well,  he  has. 

Jane.     Paul ! 

Smithfield.     (c.)     That's  right! 

Jane,  Of  course,  I  expected  it.  What  can  we 
do  about  it? 

Smithfield.     I  give  it  up, 

Jane.  (To  Smithfield  at  c.l.  of  him)  Look 
here,  Paul.  Randy  Weeks  slipped  in  a  few  minutes 
ago  to  say  he'd  got  a  fresh  lot  of  servants. 

Smithfield.  Fine  for  Randy.  When  are  they 
coming  ? 

Jane.    Not  till  Tuesday,  he  thought, 

Smithfield,  Well,  maybe  we  can  keep  going 
till  then. 


70        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Jane.  Oh,  Paul,  we've  just  got  to.  (Goes  to 
front  of  table.) 

Smithfield.  (Follows  to  r.  of  table — pause) 
Say,  Livy,  what  did  Crane  want  with  you? 

Jane.    Nothing. 

Smithfield.     Nothing? 

Jane.     Nothing  much.     (Pause.) 

Smithfield.  Now,  see  here,  Livy — I  think  you 
might  tell  me. 

Jane.  (Mischievously)  We  .  .  .  er  .  .  .  had  a 
little  talk 

Smithfield.    What  about? 

Jane.    About  kissing. 

Smithfield.    Kissing?    (Turns  a  few  steps  ^.) 

Jane.  Yes — kissing  and  lovin'  an'  marriage — 
(Pause) — and,  oh,  one  thing  and  another.  (She 
goes  to  stove.) 

Smithfield.     (r.  of  table)     Well,  good  grief! 

Livy,  if  you're  not  the  most  exasperating Look 

here — did  he  try  to  make  love  to  you,  too?  You 
know 

Jane.  (Picks  up  copper  kettle  from  the  stove.) 
Paul,  if  you  don't  leave  me  alone,  I  shall  certainly 
throw  a  kettle  at  you.  How  on  earth  do  you  think 
I'm  going  to  get  on  with  my  work  if  you 

Smithfield.  Gad !  I  tell  you  one  thing — ^you*re 
altogether  too  good  looking.  The  next  sister  I  pick 
out  is  going  to  be  a  sight.  (Hurt.)  Oh,  well,  if 
you're  not  going  to  tell 

Jane.  I  did  tell  you.  We  talked  about  kissing. 
(Moving  up  to  top  of  table.) 

Smithfield.  (Angry)  AH  right — all  right- 
keep  it  up.  (Sits  chair  l.c.)  But  it  doesn't  seem 
to  me  you're  playing  the  game. 

Jane.  (Relenting,  goes  to  back  of  his  chair  and 
leans  over,  rumpling  his  hair.)  Oh,  Paul,  dear. 
I'll    tell    you    sometime.    Just    now  ...  I  ...  I 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        71 

can't.  Oh,  Paul,  I  fed  all  of  a  sudden  kind  of 
faint — and — and  lonesome.  (Paul  pats  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder.)  Whenever  I  feel  like  that  I — I 
just  have  to  be  kissed. 

Smithfield.  (Rising)  It's  a  good  thing  you 
didn't  feel  lonesome  when  you  were  talking  to 
Crane.     (Moves  r.  a  little.) 

Jane.     I — I  did.    (Moves  to  front  of  table.) 

Smithfield.     (Turning)     What? 

Jane.     Just  a  little. 

Smithfield.  (Taking  her  in  his  arms)  There 
— there,    sis.      Don't   you   bother.      It's    all    right. 

Why,    where'd    we   all    be   if    it   weren't    for 

(Gives  her  a  brotherly  kiss.) 

(Crane  comes  through  c.  door.  Jane  sees  him 
over  Smithfield's  shoulder  and  starts  back, 
pushing  Smithfield,  who  turns  and  also  sees 
Crane.  Smithfield  goes  to  sink  and  busies 
himself  with  dishes.) 

Crane.  (Taking  up  hat  from  chair  r.  of  door 
c.)  Oh — oh — please  don't  mind  me.  I  just — 
came  in  for  my  hat. 

Jane.  Faith,  Misther  Crane,  we  were  only — we 
were  only 

Crane.     (Politely)    Yes  ? 

Smithfield,  (Turning)  Yes,  sir,  exactly,  sir, 
if  you'll  allow  me  to  say  so,  sir. 

Crane.    Say  what? 

Smithfield.  It — it's  precisely  as  Jane-Ellen  was 
saying,  sir — ^precisely,  sir. 

Jane.  Yis,  indade,  sor,  it's  just  like  Smithfield 
was  afther  tellin'  your  honor,  so  it  is  now. 

Crane.  (Politely  but  icily)  Ah,  now  you've  ex- 
plained it,  it's  all  perfectly  clear.  (Crane  exits 
door  c.  and  passes  window.)  Ready  BELL. 


72        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEJ^ 

(Jane^  wilted,  goes  to  chair  r.  of  table  and  sits  de- 
jectedly. Smithfiexd  puts  plate  on  board,  and 
goes  up  c.  a  little,  then  crosses  and  stands  r.  of 
her.) 

Smithfield.    Well,  what  of  it? 

Jane.    Oh,  I  don't  like  it. 

Smithfield.  Nothing  to  cry  about.  All  he  saw 
was  the  butler  kissing  the  cook.  That's  all  he  can 
think. 

Jane.  But  I  don't  want  him  to  think  that.  In- 
deed I  don't. 

Smithfield.  Why  not?  Why  the  devi'i  shouldn't 
the  butler  kiss  the  cook  ?  Perfectly  natural,  isn't  it  ? 
What's  the  harm  ? 

Jane.  Oh,  I  suppose  it's  been  done  before. 
(Rises.)  But  I — I  don't  like  it.  I  don't  just  seem 
to  like  it  at  all  (Crosses  to  front  end  of  table  and 
faces  Paul.j 

Smithfield.  (Suspiciously)  But  why — why — 
why?    Look  here,  Livy 

Jane.    (Facing  him)    Well,  I'm  looking. 

Smithfield.    Er,  I  mean,  does  this  man 

Jane.    (Calmly)    Yes  ? 

Smithfield.     What  I  mean  is — ah (The 

No.  2  bell  rings.  He  looks  at  the  indicator.)  Oh ! 
Coming !    Coming !     Coming ! 

(Smithfield  goes  out  through  butler's  pantry. 
Jane  Ellen,  left  alone,  sets  things  to  rights 
on  the  stove,  then  exits  for  a  moment  up  l.  A 
strange  young  man  of  furtive  appearance  cau- 
tiously opens  door  l.ie.  He  gives  a  hasty 
glance  in  room,  then  turns  to  close  the  door  after 
himself.  He  is  tall,  slim.,  good-looking,  well 
dressed,  whimsical  and  evidently  on  some  clan- 
destine errand.    He  is  Tom  Lefferts.    After 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN         -Ji 

closing  the  door,  he  turns  up  stage  rapidly  to 
door  c,  looks  out  to  r.,  then  returns  down  stage 
again,  but  stops  stock  still  as  Jane-Ellilm  bwsts 
upon  him.) 

Jane-Ellen.    Glory  be!    An*  who  are  you? 

Lefferts.    Great  Venus ! 

Jane.    The  same  to  you,  sor ! 

Lefferts.  (A  step  c,  staring)  Are— are  you 
the  cook? 

Jane.     Sure,  they  call  me  that,  sor. 

Lefferts.  Heavens  above — I  mean  Heavens  on 
earth! 

Jane.     Well,  sor? 

Lefferts.  Pardon  my  agitation ;  I  was  expecting 
to  see  the  cook — but  not  preciesly  such  a  cook. 

Jane.  Very  sorry  I  don't  suit,  sor.  (Crosses  to 
sink.) 

Lefferts.  Oh,  you  do — ^you  do — don't  misun- 
derstand me.     You  do! 

Jane.    Askin'  your  pardon,  sor,  but 

Lefferts.  Of  course,  you  want  to  know  what 
the  devil  I  want  in  your  kitchen. 

Jane.    Somethin'  like  that,  sor. 

Lefferts.    I'll  tell  you — I  need  your  help. 

Jane.  Ah — poor  man — he's  hungry.  Now — a  bit 
of  a  cold  chicken,  perhaps  •«'  (Starts  as  if  to  go 
to  larder.) 

Lefferts.  Cease — desist !  (She  returns  to  sink.) 
Do  I  look  like  a  beggar  ? 

Jane.    Well,  perhaps  ye  don't  exactly. 

Lefferts.  And  yet  I  am.  I've  come  to  beg  your 
service.  Oh,  yes,  I'm  hungry,  but  not  for  food.  I 
faint  but  for  assistance ;  I  long  for  co-operation.  I 
yearn  for  a  colleague. 

Jane.    Ye  yearn  for  a  colleen? 

Lefferts.    (c.)    I  didn't  ggy  it,  but  I  accept  your 


74        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

amendment.  (Moves  r.  c  little.)  You  will  help  me, 
won't  you  ?  Already  I  perceive  that  we  are  kindred 
souls. 

Jane,  We're  nothin*  av  the  sort.  We're  total 
strangers.    An'  av  ye  don't  get  out  av  me  kitchen 

this  blessed  minute (About  to  take  up  a  dish 

to  throw.) 

Lefferts.  Wait !  Wait !  I  beg  you,  do  not  con- 
demn me  unheard.     I'm  sure  you  have  a  kind  heart. 

No  one  so  lovely  could  f>ossibly (Goes  to  R. 

side  of  the  table.) 

Jane.  Whenever  they  want  somethin',  they  tell 
ye  ye  have  a  kind  heart.     What  is  ut? 

Lefferts.  Remarkable  cook — oh,  did  I  mention 
that  my  name  was  Lefferts  ?    (Moving  a  little  l.) 

Jane.    Ye  did  not,  sor. 

Lefferts.  Well,  then,  it  is.  Thomas  Lefferts — 
at  your  service.  And  now,  remarkable  cook,  there 
is  a  lady  visiting  in  this  house 

Jane.    There  is,  then — one.    (Significantly.) 

Lefferts.  I  am  anxious  for  her  to  get  this  let- 
ter   (Puts  hat  on  chair  r.  of  table.  He  pro- 
duces letter.) 

Jane.     Oh — 'tis  Mrs.  Faulkner  ye  mean? 

Lefferts.  (Shouting)  Oh,  my  goodness!  it  is 
not! 

Jane.     Oh,  the  other  one? 

Lefferts.     You'll  admit  there's  a  difference 

Jane.    I  will  that. 

Lefferts.  I  am  anxious  for  Miss  Falkner  to  get 
this  letter. 

Jane.    Well,  Mr. — Mr.  Thomas 

Lefferts.     Lefferts. 

Jane.  Sure,  there's  the  post  office.  (Crosses  to 
table  and  gets  on  with  her  cooking.  Breaks  eggs  in 
bowl.) 

Lefferts.    (Crossing  to  r.  of  table)    Alas !    Ex- 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        75 

ceptional  cook,  alas!  that  there  should  be  in  this 
world  persons  so  unprincipled  as  to  open,  lose,  de- 
stroy or  otherwise  interfere  with  correspondence 
not  their  own.     Yet  so  it  is. 

Jane.    And  that  one  would  do  it,  too. 

Lefferts.  She  would  indeed.  (A  slight  turn.) 
In  fact,  she  has. 

Jane.     She  has? 

Lefferts.  (Down  to  her  again)  I  see  you  un- 
derstand me  already.  Said  I  not,  O  culinary  mar- 
vel, that  we  were  kindred  souls?  You,  too,  have 
been  in  love. 

Jane.  (Beating  eggs  in  howl)  Me?  Not  yet, 
sor,  but  I'm  thinkin'  av  it. 

Lefferts.  (Wondering  if  she  means  him)  That 
is  to  say? 

Jane.    And  not  with  you,  neither. 

Lefferts.  (Backing  away  up  c,  then  down 
again  to  r.  of  table.)  Oh — no — of  course  not — cer- 
tainly not.  Well,  then,  I  have  the  honor  to  be  not 
altogether  unpopular  with  Miss  Falkner,  but  to  her 
mother  I  am,  as  it  were,  the  deadliest  of  poisons. 

Jane.    'Tis  a  sort  av  a  recommendation,  sor. 

Lefferts.  In  one  way,  no  doubt — in  a  way. 
However,  it  has  its  inconveniences — such,  for  ex- 
ample, as  clandestine  excursions  to  foreign  kitchens. 
I  trust  you  follow  me,  celestial  cook? 

Jane.  Sure,  ye  mean  sneakin'  around  the  back 
way?  (Jane  moves  dozvn  to  towel  at  door  l.ie., 
wiping  her  hands. ) 

Lefferts.  (Backing  away.)  'Tis  a  bald,  unim- 
aginative phrase,  but  I'm  afraid  I  do.  However, 
time  is  on  the  wing.  Any  moment  we  may  be  in- 
terrupted. 

(The  door  latch  l.ie.  clicks.    Jane  holds  door  shut) 


76       COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Jane.  Someone  is  here  now!  Who  is  it?  Who 
is  it?    Who 

Lefferts.  Heavens,  I  mustn't  be  found  here! 
(Looks  around  and  rushes  into  closet  r.2E.,  closing 
door.  Jane  looks  toward  c.  and  finds  Lefferts 
gone.) 

Jane.  Why,  where  is  he?  The  man's  a  sprite! 
(She  opens  door.  Mandy  staggers  in,  out  of 
breath,  and  crosses  to  chair  l.c.)    Mandy! 

Mandy.  How'dye,  honey — how'dye.  (Fanning 
herself  with  apron.) 

Jane,  What  are  you  doing  here?  Didn't  I  tell 
you  not  to  come  over? 

Mandy.  Yes — yes — you  certainly  did,  chile. 
Well — well — just — just  let  me  get  ma  breath.  How 
are  you,  honey?  Powerful  warm?  What  are  you 
doing,  honey? 

Jane.    Making  com  bread. 

Mandy.    Is  that  so,  honey? 

Jane.    Yes,  Mandy. 

Mandy.    Well,  what's  you  all  got  in  it? 

Jane.    Three  ^gs — 

Mandy.    That's  right. 

Jane.    And  milk 

Mandy.    Yes,  honey 

Jane.    And  I  don't  know  how  to  go  on. 

Mandy.  Well,  maybe  a  little  corn  meal  will  help 
some.  (Jane  gets  corn  meal  on  table,  then  gets 
sugar  from  mantelpiece  and  puts  it  in  howl.)  What's 
the  sugar  for,  honey  ? — ^you  don't  put  sugar  in  com 
bread. 

Jane.  Cooking  for  Yankee,  Mammy.  (Mandy 
laughs,  and  carries  egg  shells  to  sink.) 

Jane.    How  are  you,  Mammy  ? 

Mandy.  I'se  kicking,  but  not  very  high.  How*s 
you  all?     (Takes  up  cloth  and  wipes  basin.) 

Jane.     Oh,  I'se  a-goin',  Mammy,  but  gruntin*. 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        77 

honey,  gruntin*.  What  are  you  doing  here,  any- 
way ?  Don't  you  know  I  told  you  not  to  come  here? 
(Crosses  to  MandyJ 

Mandy.    Now  you  hesitate 

Jane.    No,  I  won't  hesitate.    Put  it  down. 

Mandy.  I  tell  you,  chile,  hesitate — hesitate. 
(Puts  bowl  down.)  Laws,  but  you'se  de  most  pes- 
tiferous chile.  Look  here,  honey,  ah — ah — I'se  done 
got  something  what  Mister  Weeks  told  me  to  give 
you.     (Starts  to  fumble  for  letter.) 

Jane.  Oh,  bother  Randy  Weeks !  (Crosses  to  c. 
Mrs.  Falkner's  and  Crane^s  voices  are  heard  out- 
side door  R.C.J  For  Heaven's  sake,  Mammy,  some 
one  is  coming,  scoot!     Scoot! 

Mandy.  Scoot!  Why,  Miss  Honey?  Wherell 
I  scoot? 

Jane.  I  don't  know — ^but  scoot.  Here,  quick! 
Cupboard — quick ! 

(Jane  grabs  her  by  wrist,  draws  her  across  stage, 
opens  the  closet  door.  Lefferts  steps  out,  for- 
ward, but  is  pushed  into  cover  by  Jane,  who 
then  closes  door,  after  which  she  rushes  to  left. 
She  slams  the  door  on  them  just  as  Crane  and 
Mrs.  Falkner  come  in  from,  the  veranda. 
Crane  is  still  sulking  from  the  result  of  his 
previous  visit  to  the  kitchen  and  evidently  re- 
turning under  Mrs.  Falkner^s  compulsion. 
Mrs.  Falkner,  outside,  before  entrance) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Off)  I  think  I'd  like  to  see  the 
kitchen. 

Crane.  (At  the  door)  Mrs.  Falkner  simply  in- 
sists on  seeing  your  kitchen,  Jane-Ellen.  May  we 
come  in? 

Jane.  Sure,  sor,  ye're  as  welcome  as — I  don't 
know  what 


78        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Mrs.  Falknee.  Humph!  (Turns  up  her  nose. 
Comes  down  c.J 

Crane.     Thank  you. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Sniffing  the  air)  Something's 
burning. 

Jane.  Thank  ye,  ma'am.  (She  moves  a  sauce- 
pan further  back  on  the  stove,  then  opens  oven  door 
and  turns  chicken.) 

Crane.  Nice  bright  kitchen,  isn't  it?  (Goes  to 
dresser.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.    I  daresay.    (Going  up  too.) 

Crane.    And  so  clean. 

Mrs.  Falkner,  Of  course,  on  the  outside.  (Runs 
handkerchief  along  woodwork  c.)  Humph!  Jane- 
Ellen,  do  you  call  that  clean? 

Jane.  'Tis  that  sorry  I  am,  ma'am,  but  I've 
hardly  got  me  bearin's  around  the  place  yet.  If  ye 
was  to  come  in  next  week,  now 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Yes,  I  daresay — or  any  time 
when  you  knew  I  was  coming.  (Goes  to  closet  door. 
Jane's  voice  stops  her.  Looks  at  the  pum^p.) 
Humph !    No  running  water. 

Jane.  Faith,  ma'am,  'twas  not  me  built  the 
house.     fL.  of  table.) 

(Enter  Araminta  R.3E.  Crosses  to  l.  Crane  to 
outside  door  c,  not  to  hear  Araminta.  Ara- 
minta enters  hurriedly  from  butler's  pantry, 
wearing  a  hat  and  is  putting  on  her  gloves.) 

Araminta.  (Seeing  only  Janej  I'm  going  out 
for  a  walk,  dear.     If  I  don't,  I'll  explode. 

Jane.    (Aside  to  Araminta  j    Sh !    Look  out ! 

Araminta.      I    haven't (She    sees    Mrs. 

Falkner  and  Crane  and  stops.)  I  beg  pardon.  I 
didn't  notice — f— ? 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        79 

Mrs.  Falkener.  (Gasping.  Crane  re-enters) 
Burton !     Burton ! 

Crane.    Eh?    What's  the  matter? 

Mrs.  Falkner,  (Staggering  to  a  chair  and  col- 
lapsing)   That — that  woman! 

Crane.    What  ? 

Mrs.  Falkner.  That  woman  is  wearing  Cora's 
best  hat! 

Crane.    What  ? 

Mrs.  Falkner.  This  really  is  too  much.  (She 
fans  herself  with  her  handkerchief.)  Even  you  will 
admit  this  is  too  much  I    (r.  of  table.) 

Crane.  (Coming  down  c.)  Don't  be  so  excited. 
It  probably  isn't  Cora's  at  all.  Araminta  has  prob- 
ably just  copied  it. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  Nonsense  I  I  think  I  know  a 
French  model  when  I  see  it.  Young  woman,  what 
do  you  mean  by  wearing  my  daughter's  hat? 

Araminta.  (Tartly)  Your  daughter's  hat? 
Nothing  of  the  kind ! 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (To  Cranej  This  is  insuffer- 
able !  To  have  that  woman  standing  there  in  Cora's 
hat  which  I  purchased  myself  and  tell  me  I  don't 
know  the  hat  when  I  see  it ! 

Crane.    Araminta,  have  you  any  explanation? 

Araminta.     (Setting  her  teeth)    None  at  all! 

Crane  (Steps  toward  Aramintaj  Did  Miss 
Falkner  by  any  chance  say  anything  that  made  you 
think  she  intended  to  give  you  the  hat? 

Araminta.     She  did  not. 

Mrs.  Falkner.  The  idea!  Give  a  housemaid  a 
forty-five  dollar  French  hat ! 

Crane.  Then,  Araminta,  I'm  afraid  you  must 
take  off  the  hat  and  give  it  to  Miss  Falkner  and  go 
pack  your  things  and  be  out  of  the  house  before 
dinner.  (Goes  up  stage  l.c.  Livy  and  Bess  ex- 
change looks.     Smithfield  fomes  in  R.3E. j 


8o        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Smithfield.  (Comes  on  whistling  and  dancing) 
Beg  pardon,  sir. 

Crane.     Smithfield,  I  have  dismissed  Araminta. 

Smithfield.     Dismissed ! 

Crane.  (Moving  to  top  of  table)  For  wearing 
one  of  Miss  Falkner's  hats.     She  has  it  on  now. 

Jane.  (Coming  to  below  table,  l.  of  Araminta^ 
Oh,  no,  sir.  I  can  explain  that.  The  hat  was  given 
her  by  Mrs.  Crossley-Billington,  she  thinking  it  a 
trifle  too  young  for  her,  she  being  a  lady  now  pos- 
sibly Mrs.  Falkner's  age,  though  hardly  looking 
forty-five  by  candle-light,  sir. 

Mrs.  Falkner.     Really! 

Jane.  Faith,  ma'am,  if  I  may  make  so  bould, 
'twas  the  first  night  afther  ye  came  here,  an'  Ara- 
minta'd  been  unpackin'  ye,  sure  wasn't  it  in  the  same 
kitchen  she  was  afther  tellin'  us  Miss  Falkner  has  a 
bonnet  the  dead  spit 

Crane.  (Trying  to  stop  Janej  Yes,  yes — yes — 
yes.     Now  don't  get  excited. 

Jane.  — av  her  own,  and  we  was  all  advisin'  her 
fer  not  to  be  a-wearin'  her  own  till  ye  was  ofif  the 
place,  so  we  was  now.  (She  continues  her  explana- 
tion ad  lib.) 

Smithfield.  (Speaks  on  cue  of  which  Jane 
continues)  Just  so,  milady,  exactly  what  I  was  go- 
ing to  say. 

(At  this  point  Cora  enters  c,  goes  to  c.r.  of  Crane, 
wearing  a  hat  which  is  the  exact  duplicate  of 
Araminta's.j 

Cora,  Burton,  aren't  you  coming?  (A  step  in- 
side door.) 

Crane.  Mrs.  Falkner,  look!  (Indicates  the  two 
hats.  They  all  stare  from  Cora's  hat  to  Aramin- 
ta's  and  bctck  again.) 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        8i 

Jane.  Cl.  of  Aramintaj  Faith,  I  said  it.  The 
dead  spit!     (Smithfield  moves  up  stage.) 

Crane.  Araminta,  an  apology  seems  to  be  due 
to  you.  I  have  great  pleasure  in  offering  it,  though 
I  must  say  if  you  had  been  a  little  more  civil,  the 
whole  matter  could  have  been  cleared  up  at  once. 
(Comes  around  r.  of  table.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  I  think  it  outrageous  that  a  serv- 
ant should  wear  a  hat  which  cost  forty-five  dollars ! 
(Down  R.j 

Araminta.  (Crosses  to  c,  facing  Mrs.  Falkner. 
Breaking  out)  Indeed !  And  now  I'll  tell  you  what 
/  think  is  outrageous,  and  that  is  that  women  like 
you,  calling  themselves  ladies,  should  be  free  to 
browbeat  and  insult  servants  as  much  as  they  please. 
fCoRA  a  little  down  l.c.) 

Smithfield.  Araminta,  be  quiet !  (Coming  for- 
ward.) 

Araminta.  No,  I  won't!  No  one  knows  what 
I've  put  up  with  from  that  old  harridan! 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Gasping  and  m,oving  forward) 
Burton!     Stop  her! 

Araminta.  And  now  I'm  going  to  say  what  I 
think. 

Crane,  ^r.  of  table)  No,  you're  not.  We're  all 
very  sorry  this  has  happened,  but  you  really  can't 
be  allowed  to  talk  like  that.  Smithfield,  take  her 
away.  Pay  her  off  and  don't  let  us  see  her  again. 
(Smithfield  takes  the  protesting  Araminta  off 
R.3E.;' 

Crane.  (Advancing  to  Mrs.  Falkner  very  apol- 
ogetically) Really,  Mrs.  Falkner,  you  can't  think 
how  sorry  I  am  that 

Mrs.  Falkner.  ^r.c.J  Yes,  yes,  no  doubt — no 
doubt, 

Jane.    Don't  ye  be  angry,  ma'am.     (Apparently 


82        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

trying  to  mollify  her.)  Couldn't  I  be  afther  show- 
in'  ye  the  ice  box  or  somethin'  ? 

Mrs.  Falkner.  The  idea!  Come,  Cora,  let  us 
leave  this  place  at  once.  (Majestically  she  turns  to 
'march  off,  and  with  the  utmost  dignity  mistakes  the 
door  at  r.2e.  for  the  door  at  r.c.  and  so  opens  the 
closet  door,  discovering  a  white  man  and  a  colored 
woman.  Mandy  bounces  out  like  a  rubber  hall, 
bumping  into  Mrs.  Falkner.  Mrs.  Falkner,  with 
a  shriek,  backs  out  into  the  kitchen,  going  down  r.) 

Crane.    What's  this?    What's  this? 

Jane.    God  bless  us  and  save  us! 

(Mandy  emerges  from  the  closet,  staggers  across 
stage  as  Jane  opens  door  for  her.  Mandy  exits 
l.ie.  Then  Lefferts  appears  in  doorway  of  the 
closet,  hat  in  hand,  and  stands  panting.) 

Cora.  (When  laugh  is  over,  coming  down  r., 
below  cupboard)    Tom  Lefferts ! 

Lefferts.  (With  broken  strazv  hat,  disarranged 
tie,  wilted  collar  and  a  sickly  smile)  Er — how  do 
you  do? 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Crossing  to  c.)  Burton,  may 
I  ask  what  is  the  meaning  of  this? 

Crane.  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea.  Perhaps 
Jane-Ellen  will  explain. 

Jane.  Faith,  sor,  an'  I  never  set  eyes  on  ayther 
av  thim  before.    (Exits  through  door  up  l.  j 

Crane.    Cora,  you  seem  to  know  the  young  man. 

Cora.  Er — ^yes — allow  me,  Mr.  Lefferts — this  is 
Mr.  Crane. 

Lefferts.  Er — delighted  to  meet  you.  How  are 
you? 

Crane.  May  I  ask  to  what  I  owe  this  unexpected 
honor? 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        83 

Lefferts.  Why — er---the  fact  is — ^that  is  to  s^y 
—ah 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Interrupting)  The  fact  is. 
Burton 

Lefferts.  (Rallying  and  making  a  fight  for  it) 
Allow  me,  Mrs.  Falkner.  (Crosses  to  Mrs.  Falk- 
ner c.)     As  the  injured  party 

Mrs.  Falkner.  The  injured  party !  (Crosses  to 
Cora  r,) 

Lefferts,  (c.)  Precisely.  I  appeal  to  you,  Mr. 
Crane.  Had  I  or  had  I  not  the  right  to  assume  that 
if  there  was  one  place  on  earth  where  I  would  be 
safe  from  Mrs.  Falkner's  pursuit  it  would  be  the 
kitchen  cupboard? 

Crane.  Well,  really — I'm  not  in  a  position  to 
answer  that. 

Lefferts.  (c.  Warming  up  to  his  subject)  Of 
course.  Certainly,  any  right-minded  person  would 
say  as  much.  Well,  sir,  secure  in  my  confidence,  I 
retire  to  my  closet  for  rest  and — er — seclusion.  Do 
I  get  it?  I  do  not.  First  of  all — I  am  forced  to 
share  my  closet,  quite  against  my  will,  with  a  stout, 
elderly  female  person  of  color.  And  as  if  that 
weren't  bad  enough,  who  should  burst  in  on  me  but 
Mrs.  Falkner.  It's  intrusion.  That's  what  I  call  it 
— unwarrantable  intrusion.  And  now,  Mrs.  Falkner, 
I  should  like  to  know  what  the  devil  you  mean  by 
it?  (During  the  above  speech  Mrs.  Falkner  is 
talking  and  scolding  Cora,  who  is  inclined  to  laugh.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.     Mr.  LeflFerts ! 

Lefferts.  Why  the  devil  can't  you  keep  out  of 
my  cupboard  ? 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Crosses  to  Crane  l.c.J  Burton, 
this  wild  nonsense  has  gone  far  enough.  This  man 
has  pursued  my  daughter  for  over  a  year,  despite 
the  fact  that  I  have  forbidden  him  to  see  her  or  to 
communicate  with  her  in  any  way.     My  judgment 


84        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

of  his  character  is,  I  trust,  sufficiently  confirmed  by 
this  latest  outrage.  He  calls  himself  a  poet.  What 
he  and  that  colored  person  were  doing  in  that  closet, 
I  leave  it  to  him  to  say.  (Lefferts  goes  up  to  door 
c,  protesting.) 

Cora.  Oh,  Mother !  (Half -laughing,  she  goes  up 
and  joins  Lefferts  near  door  c.) 

Mrs.  Falkner.  (Without  stopping)  And  now. 
Burton,  my  daughter  and  I  have  trespassed  suffi- 
ciently on  your  hospitality.  We  will  return  to  Wash- 
ington by  the  first  train.  Kindly  have  the  motor 
ready  to  take  us.  Cora,  come  with  me.  (She  starts 
to  go.  Going  to  cupboard  again,  she  opens  it  and 
slams  it,  exclamation  of  disgust.  Hesitating)  Will 
some  one  be  good  enough  to  show  me  the  way  out? 
Come,  Cora.     (Exits  door  R.3  at  back.) 

Lefferts.    With  the  greatest  of  pleasure,  ma'am. 

^Mrs.  Falkner  exits  R.3  and  Cora,  after  throwing 
kiss  to  Lefferts.  Crane  and  Lefferts  look 
at  each  other  and  then  fail  to  laughing  quietly.) 

Lefferts.  (At  length  controlling  himself)  I 
take  it  that  things  are  fairly  clear  to  you.  That 
woman  is  really  a  terror  and  I  did  want  a  word  with 
Cora 

Crane.  Of  course,  I  understand.  It's  all  clear 
enough.  I'll  do  my  best  to  square  you  with  her. 
(Lefferts  moves  down  a  little  b..) 

Lefferts.  I'm  afraid  it  can't  be  done.  The  devil 
of  it  is  I'm  little  better  than  a  pauper  and 

Crane.  I  take  it  you're  staying  in  the  neighbor- 
hood? 

Lefferts.  Oh,  y^s — only  a  mile  away — ^with  the 
Randolphs. 

Crane.    (Thoughtfully)    Well,  then,  come  over 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN         85 

to  dinner  to-night  and  I'll  try  and  make  Mrs.  Falk- 
ner  see  reason.     We'll  see  what  can  be  done. 

Lefferts.  (Going  c.)  You're  awfully  good, 
but 

Crane.    Not  a  bit  of  it. 

Lefferts.  Well,  if  you're  going  to  square  me  in 
that  quarter  you'll  need  all  the  time  there  is,  so  per- 
haps I'd  better  run.    (Starts  to  door  down  l.) 

Crane.  (Stopping  him)  Oh,  come  this  way.  I 
will  have  my  chauffeur  take  you  over. 

Lefferts.    Thanks,  thanks !    (Goes  up  to  door  c.) 

Crane.    Oh,  Mr.  Lefferts,  are  you  really  a  poet? 

Lefferts.  Well,  sometimes  I  have  a  jingle  pub- 
lished, but  my  real  job  is  assistant  editor  of  a  thing 
called  the  "Statistician."  I  merely  write  the  jingles 
as  an  antidote.  (Goes  up  to  the  door  c.)  Ah,  ah, 
what  does  the  good  book  say — "What  is  whispered 
in  the  closet  shall  be  proclaimed  from  the  house- 
tops."   How  true!    How  true!     (Exit  c.) 

Crane.  (Calling  after  him)  I'll  be  with  you  in 
a  moment. 

(At  exit  of  Lefferts,  Crane  walks  down  stage  c, 
as  if  waiting  for  Jane,  who  after  a  pause  en- 
ters from  L,3E.  and  comes  down  between  table 
and  stove.) 

Crane.  Jane-Ellen,  I  have  a  most  unpleasant 
task  to  perform.  Perhaps  you  know  when  I  leased 
this  house  it  was  arranged  with  Mr.  Weeks  to  fur- 
nish a  competent  stafif  of  white  servants.  Now  you, 
Jane-Ellen,  are  a  most  excellent  cook  and  Smithfield 
is  competent  enough,  but  as  for  the  other  two,  you 
know  how  competent  they  are.  I  shall  pay  you  and 
Smithfield  six  weeks'  wages  and  I  shall  cancel  the 
lease  and  leave  the  house  to-morrow.  If  the  Dain- 
gerfields  want  their  money  they  can  sue  me  for  it  as 
long  as  they  please. 


86        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN         M 

Jane.  (Goes  up  c.  Very  softly)  Sure — you 
don't  mean  that?    (Moving  round  to  r.  of  table.) 

Crane.     I  do.     (Coming  toward  her.) 

Jane.  Mr.  Crane — Mr.  Crane — you  won't  be 
breaking  the  lease.  Shure,  there's  no  trouble  at  all 
after  once  you  get  Mrs.  Falkner  out  of  the  place. 

Oh,  Mr.  Crane,  please (She  comes  to  r.  of 

table  toward  him'  slowly.) 

Crane.  Oh,  Jane-Ellen — Jane-Ellen.  You  know, 
you're  a  very  strange  girl.  You  are  quite  sure  there 
is  not  something  you  want  to  tell  me?  (She  puts 
out  her  hands,  which  he  instinctively  tries  to  take, 
and  she,  almost  zvithout  knotving,  withdraws  them.) 

Jane.    (Whispering)    No,  sir,  no 

Crane.  Because  if  there  is,  I  feel  sure  you  could 
trust  me  to — to  understand.  You  seem  to  be  in 
some  sort  of  trouble,  and,  if  I  can,  I'd  like,  oh  so 
very  much,  to  help  you. 

Jane.  You're  very  kind,  sir.  But  there  is  nothing 
you  can  do.     (Pause.)    Nothing. 

Crane.  Are  you  quite  sure  you  cannot  tell  me? 
Because,  you  see,  Jane-Ellen,  when  you  look  like 
that  it  seems  somehow  I  just  have  to  do  something 
about  it. 

Jane.    You  are  very  kind,  sir. 

Crane.  Now  wouldn't  it  make  it  easier  if  you 
could  think  of  me  just  for  a  moment  not  as  your 
employer — but  just  as  a  decent  chap  who  would  do 
anything  in  the  world  to  make  you  smile  once  again, 
because  you  know,  Jane-Ellen,  when  you  smile — 
(Jane  smiles) — that's  it!  Come  now,  don't  you 
think  you  could  tell  me  ?    (Pause.) 

Jane.    No,  sor. 

Crane.    Why  not,  Jane-Ellen  ?     (Pause.) 

Jane.  Well,  sor,  this  is  the  way  of  it:  Suppos- 
ing— supposing  you  was  in  a  bad  fix;  supposing 
those  you  loved,  your  very  dearest,  was  to  be  sick 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        87 

and  in  trouble ;  suppose  you  picked  out  the  grandest 
plan  to  save  them,  and  then,  after  you  had  done 
your  very  best,  everything  was  to  go  smash — well, 
sor,  that's  the  time  there's  nothing  left  to  do  but 
just  to  creep  into  your  own  heart  and  shut  the  door. 
Crane.  (Patting  her  hand)  I'm  sorry,  Jane- 
Ellen.     I'm  sorry 

(Crane  exits  door  c.  without  stopping.  Jane  be- 
gins to  cry  softly.  Goes  up  to  door  c,  leaning 
her  head  against  it,  and  when  Mandy  enters, 
turns  her  hack  so  the  tears  will  not  be  evident. 
Mandy  enters  door  l.ie.j 

Mandy.     Say,    I    done    found    dat Why, 

honey  chile,  is  you  cry  in',  hun' — honey  lamb,  child, 
now  don't  you  go  spoiHn'  your  blessed  blue  eyes. 
(Goes  to  Jane  at  c.) 

Jane.  (With  her  back  to  Mandy^  It's  nothing. 
Mammy — nothing ! 

Mandy.  (Standing  in  front  of  chair  l.c,  ready 
to  seat  herself  later)  Well,  I  done  found  that  letter 
that  Mr.  Randy  Weeks  done  gib  me.  He  say  it's  a 
cable. 

Jane.     (Turning  slowly  to  front)    A  cable? 

Mandy.    Yas'm,  honey. 

Jane.  (Taking  cable,  opening  it,  but  not  looking 
at  it)    Mammy, — I'm  afraid. 

Mandy.    Dear,  dear — honey  chile! 

Jane.  Oh — oh — mammy!  (She  slowly  opens 
cablegram  and  reads.  She  drops  it  and  puts  hands 
to  her  face.) 

Mandy.    Honey  chile,  what's  the  matter? 

Jane.  Oh,  it's  daddy! — the  surgeons  have  oper- 
ated on  him. 

Mandy.    Oh,  he's  gwine  to  be  all  right,  honey. 

Jane,     They  don't  know,  they  don't  know — it's 


88        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

too  soon  to  tell.  Oh,  mammy,  mammy,  if  he 
shouldn't  get  well,  what  will  I  do,  what  will  I  do? 
Oh,  mammy,  oh,  mammy,  if  he  shouldn't  get  well! 

(Weeping  Jane  falls  into  Mandt's  arms  and 
Mandy  seats  herself  in  the  chair  l.c,  lifting 
Jane  on  her  lap  and  rocking  her  to  and  fro,  as 
a  child.) 

Mandy.     My  little  lady  baby,  my  little  lady  baby. 

SLOW  CURTAIN 


ACT    III 

Scene:    The  dining  room.    See  photograph. 

Time:  Just  before  dinner  on  the  same  day  as  ACT 
II. 

The  room  has  two  windows  at  l.  They  are 
low  French  windows  opening  on  a  practical 
veranda. 

The  entarnce  from  the  hall  is  at  rear  L.e. 

The  entrance  to  the  butler's  pantry  is  at  r.c. 
This  door  to  the  butler's  pantry  entrance 
has  a  screen  in  front  of  it.  Just  below  this  door 
R.  a  serving  table  stands  against  the  r.  wall.  A 
beautiful  old  mahogany  sideboard  stands  r. 
against  the  wall  at  r.  The  dining  table  that 
stands  at  c.  is  oval  and  not  very  large — just  big 
enough  for  four  persons,  in  fact.  There  are 
lighted  candles  on  the  sideboard.  The  room  is 
lighted  by  chandelier  c.    See  light  plot. 

Discovered:  At  rise,  Smithfield  is  just  finishing 
setting  the  table.    He  stands  at  back  of  table. 

Enter  Brindlebury  at  r.c.  His  get-up  is 
totally  different.  He  wears  a  grey  wig,  very 
suspicious-looking,  grey  side-whiskers  and  a  suit 
of  nonedescript  clothes  much  too  big  for  him. 

Brindlebury.      (Poking   his    head    around    the 
screen)    Hist ! 

89 


90        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Smithfjeld.  Look  here,  Charlie,  didn't  I  tell  you 
to  lie  low  ? 

Brindlebury.  (Coming  in  around  screen)  Yes, 
but  Livy  says 

Smithfield.  I  don't  care  what  she  says.  You've 
got  to  keep  out  of  sight  as  much  as  possible  or  it'll 
be  all  up. 

Brindlebury.  Aw,  say,  Paul,  they'll  never  sus- 
pect. Didn't  I  help  take  the  old  lady's  trunks  down- 
stairs right  under  her  very  nose  ? 

Smithfield.    Yes,  I  know,  but 

Brindlebury,  (At  upper  end  of  the  sideboard 
R.J  And  say,  just  look  at  this.  D'ye  ever  see  a 
finer  limp?  (He  stumps  up  and  down  r.  with  the 
walk  of  a  man  with  a  stiff  leg.) 

Smithfield.  (c.)  It's  a  good  enough  limp — 
but  your  make-up's  rotten — (Crosses  to  r.,  near 
screen) — and  your  voice  is  worse.  Don't  you  ever 
get  near  enough  for  Crane  to  speak  to  you.  Keep 
away  under  cover,  not  that  it  makes  much  difference, 
I  reckon. 

Brindlebury.    Why,  what  do  you  mean  ? 

Smithfield.  Oh,  nothing.  You'll  know  soon 
enough.   (He  goes  out  at  r.c.  Brindlebury  goes  b..) 

(Enter  Crane  from  the  hall  door  l.c.     He  wears  a 
dinner  coat.) 

Crane.    Oh,  Smithfield. 

Brindlebury.    Eh?    (Hand  to  ear.) 

Crane.     (Seeing  Brindlebury,  who  is  upstage 

above  sideboard)    Here,  I  say (Brindlebury 

stops.)    What's  your  name? 

Brindlebury.  (In  a  thin,  squeaky  voice)  Yes, 
sir.     I'm  lame.     Been  so  ever 

Crane.  (Standing  l.  of  table  c,  shouting)  No, 
no.     I  asked  your  name. 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        91 

Brindlebury.  When  I  came?  Oh,  this  after- 
noon, sir,  Mr.  Smithfield  he  telephoned  to  my  Avife 
— sir — he  says  "Susan,"  he  says,  "Susan " 

Crane.    (Sternly)    Come  here. 

Brindlebury.    Hey  ? 

Crane.    Come  here.    Let  me  look  at  you (At 

this  Brindlebury  limps  slowly  to  l.,  below  table  c, 
and  jumps  out  of  the  lower  French  window  and  dis- 
appears.) Here!  What's  the  matter  with  you? 
(He  dashes  out  of  the  window  in  pursuit.)  Come 
here! 

(Mammy  enters,  sees  Crane  and  Brindlebury  exit, 
she  roars  with  laughter.    Enter  Paul.j 

Mandy.  (Near  window  down  L.J  For  de  good 
Lawd's  sake,  foot  carry  me  fast!  I  wonder  what's 
dat?    (Feels  about  for  cable.    Enter  Paul  r.c.J 

Paul.  (Crossing  to  c.  front  of  table)  What  are 
you  doing  here,  Mandy? 

Mandy.  Ne'  mind,  ne'  mind,  is  you-all  alone, 
honey  ? 

Paul.    Yes,  Mandy,  what  is  it? 

Mandy.  Marse  Randy — ^he  done  give  me  another 
one  of  them — cable-ums.  (She  gives  him  cable- 
gram.) He  told  me  to  fetch  it  right  up  to  you-all. 
Lordy  Massa,  Paul,  I'se  just  full  o'  cable-ums. 
Heah  yo'  is.     (Hands  him  cablegram.) 

CPaul  reads  it,  standing  c,  in  front  of  chair.) 

Paul.    (Softly)    Mandy,  Mandy!    Thank  God! 
Mandy.    About  yo'  paw,  Marse  Paul  ? 
Paul.     Yes,  Mandy.     Father's  out  of   danger, 
thank  God! 


92        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Mandy.  Ain't  de  Lawd  good !  (Quickly)  Where 
my  lir  white  baby?     (Crosses  to  R.cJ 

Paul.     In  the  kitchen,  Mandy. 

Mandy.  Marse  Paul,  Miss  Livy  she's  worryin' 
her  little  heart  out.  You  give  me  dat  cable-um.  I 
just  tote  it  down  to  her.  (He  gives  it  to  her. 
Crosses  to  R.c.j  Dis  mammy  want  her  baby  to  get 
his  blessed  news  fast !  (Going)  Oh,  ain't  de  Lawd 
good?    Ain't  de  Lawd  good?     (Exits  door  r.c.) 

(Smithfield  moves  r.,  takes  up  and  looks  at  cable 
envelope.     Tucker  enters  door  l.c.) 

Tucker.  (Comes  to  r.c.  above  table.)  Smith- 
field,  have  you  seen  Mr.  Crane  anywhere? 

Smithfield.  No,  sir.  Oh,  here  he  is.  (Exits 
door  R.c.j 

Crane.  (Appears  at  window,  enters  room  and 
sits  on  window-sill.)  Phew!  Haven't  run  so  fast 
since  I  was  in  college. 

Tucker,    (r.c.)     May  I  inquire? 

Crane.    Certainly,    I've  been  chasing  Brindy. 

Tucker.    Brindy ! 

Crane.  (Going  up  c.)  No  less.  There's  his  wig. 
(Tossing  wig  to  Tucker,  who  catches  it.) 

Tucker.    Good  gracious !    Then 

Crane.  Precisely.  The  aged  servitor  with  the 
stiff  leg — Brindy 

Tucker.  (Above  table  r.  end  of  same)  Good 
Lord!  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  we  were  all  mur- 
dered in  our  beds. 

Crane.  Which  leads  us  to  the  next  step.  (Takes 
wig  from  Tucker  as  he  crosses  to  r.c.  Tucker 
moves  h.) 

(Enter  Smithfield  from  r.c.  with  cigar  tray.) 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        93 
Crane.    Sraithfield- 


Smithfield.  Yes,  sir,  (Suyf'B.firld  approaches 
CraneJ 

Crane.  I  fear  your  new  useful  man  won't  do. 
He  seems  to  me  a  bit  too  ancient. 

Smithfield.  (At  R.  below  CraneJ  Oh,  sir,  he's 
not  so  old  as  he  looks. 

Crane.    I  thought  not. 

Smithfield.    Only  66  his  next  birthday. 

Crane.    Sixty-six ! 

Smithfield.    Or  7. 

Crane.     Surprising,  eh.  Tuck? 

Tucker.     Very. 

Crane.    Is  he  married? 

Smithfield.  Not  yet,  that  is — he's  a  widower  of 
many  years'  standing.  His  poor  wife  dying  when 
her  first  baby  was  bom — that's  Mr.  Crosslett-Bil- 
lington's  present  chauffeur,  sir. 

Crane.    The  baby? 

Smithfield.  Yes,  sir — no,  sir.  That's  how  I 
happened 

Crane.  That's  enough,  Smithfield.  Your  aged 
friend  is  Brindy — who  Brindy  is,  God  knows.  Don't 
stop  to  pack.  Mr.  Weeks  will  send  your  things. 
Get  out  of  my  house  at  once.  And  if  you  want  a 
testimonial  I  will  write  you  one  saying  that  you  are 
the  most  competent  liar  of  my  acquaintance.  And 
there's  a  souvenir  for  you.  (Tosses  wig  to  Smith- 
field.  Smithfield  looks  at  the  wig,  rolls  up  his 
sleeves  as  one  in  anguish,  and  swallows  hard  once 
or  twice.) 

Smithfield.  Thank  yoti,  sir.  (With  a  gulp) 
Will  that  be  all,  sir?    (Goes  up  a  little.) 

Crane.    Quite  all. 

Smithfield.  Thank  you,  sir.  (Goes  up  and 
takes  salver  from  sideboard,  placing  wig  in  it.  He 
goes  out  at  tt.G.) 


94        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Crane.  Well,  Tuck,  we  seem  to  be  shrinking. 
(Sits  in  chair  R.  end  of  table  c.) 

Tucker,  (l.  of  table,  leaning  on  chair  l.  of  table 
end)  In  the  course  of  a  long  and  varied  experience 
at  the  bar 

Crane.  Yes,  yes,  to  be  sure.  Now  will  you 
oblige  me  by  telephoning  Mr.  Weeks  to  come  out 
here  at  once?  I  think  we'll  end  this  episode  imme- 
diately. The  ladies  have  left  us,  one  in  tears  the 
other  in  wrath — three  out  of  four  servants  have  de- 
parted.    The  roof'll  be  falling  in  next. 

Tucker.  (Going)  I'll  telephone  Mr.  Weeks  at 
once.     (Starts  toward  door  l.c.    Stops.) 

Crane.    Good ! 

Tucker.  (Pause)  Oh,  but  it's  nearly  dinner- 
time. 

Crane.    Ask  him  to  dinner,  then. 

Tucker.    Very  well,  Burton. 

Crane.    I  asked  Lefferts,  too. 

Tucker.    That  man !    Really 

Crane.  Oh,  come  off.  Tuck.  Stop  that  bad  imi- 
tation of  your  sister.  Lefiferts  is  a  fine  chap  and 
you  know  it.    Run  along,  please. 

Tucker.  (At  door  l.c,  turning)  By  the  way. 
Burton,  who's  going  to  serve  this  dinner? 

Crane.  Oh,  that's  what  I'm  going  to  see  about 
now. 

(Tucker  exits  door  l.c.  Crane  rises  and  goes  to 
pantry  door,  stops,  then  rings  bell  cord  at  man- 
tel and  comes  down  to  back  of  armchair,  r.  end 
of  table,  and  stands  waiting.  Jane  appears 
R.c.    After  a  pause.) 

CfiANG.    Jane-Ellen,  come  here. 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        95 

(Jane  is  very  gentle  and  rather  wistful,  but  confi- 
dent of  the  kindly  reception  which  she  does  not 
gel.) 

Crane.     (Severely)    Jane-Ellen 

Jane.  (Standing  on  his  a.)  Oh,  sor,  this  time, 
faith  I  know  what's  afther  makin'  ye  scold. 

Crane.    (Stiffly)    I  am  not  going  to  scold. 

Jane.  (Smiling  good-naturedly)  Sure,  sor,  an' 
that's  a  wonder,  so  it  is.  (She  gets  no  answering 
smile.)  Ah,  now,  Misther  Crane,  sure  an'  I  couldn't 
be  afther  givin'  Smithfield  away  over  that  nonsense 
about  the  boy,  now  c'u'd  I  ? 

Crane.  Really,  I  haven't  considered  the  matter 
at  all. 

Jane.  Why,  Misther  Crane,  what's  come  over 
ye? 

Crane.  Be  good  enough  not  to  ask  questions.  I 
wish  to  give  some  orders. 

Jane.  Orders?  (Stiffens  herself  and  freezes.) 
Indade,  sor? 

Crane.  Two  gentlemen  are  coming  to  dinner — 
that  makes  four  in  all — and  as  Smithfield  is  gone, 
you  will  have  to  serve  dinner  as  well  as  cook  it. 

Jane.  (Folding  arms)  No,  sor,  certainly  I'll 
not. 

Crane.    What ! 

Jane.    Faith,  'tis  a  cook  I  am  and  not  butler  at  all. 

Crane.    You  will  do  as  you  are  told. 

Jane.    Ill  do  no  such  thing,  then. 

Crane.    Jane-Ellen,  you  will  serve  dinner. 

Jane.  Misther  Crane,  I  will  not  (There's  a  brief 
pause.) 

Crane.  We  seem  to  be  dealing  with  the  eternal 
problem  between  employer  and  employed.  (Crosses 
to  L.c.  front  of  table  c.)    You're  not  lazy,  tihe  woik 


96        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

is  nothing,  yet  you  deliberately  choose  to  stand  on 
your  rights  on  a  purely  technical  point. 

Jane.    I'm  doin'  nothin'  of  the  sort,  then. 

Crane.     I  should  like  to  know  what  you  call  it. 

Jane,  Sure,  I'm  making  myself  just  as  disagree- 
able as  I  can.  'Tis  charmed  I'd  be  fer  to  oblige  a 
gintleman  that  asked  me  nice  an'  polite  like,  but 
whin  a  man  talks  about  orders  an'  me  doin'  as  Fm 
told,  all  I  got  to  say  to  that  man  is  he'd  ought  to  be 
thinkin'  av  thim  things  before  he's  dismissin'  me  two 
brothers,  so  he'd  ought.     Orders !    Humph ! 

Crane.  Your  brothers !  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
Smithfield  is  your  brother,  too  ? 

Jane.  Well,  sor,  I  wasn't  meanin'  to  tell  ye,  but 
'tis  a  fact. 

Crane.  Rather  unusual  for  an  Irish  girl  to  have 
English  brothers,  isn't  it? 

Jane.  (After  a  pause)  Faith,  the  two  av  thim 
was  raised  in  London  from  a  couple  av  kids. 

Crane.  Whereas  you  were  brought  up  in  Ire- 
land? 

Jane.    I  was,  then — God  forgive  me! 

Crane.  And  Miss  Olivia  Daingerfield  has  known 
you  all  her  life? 

Jane.  Sure,  she  was  on'y  writin'  a  testimonial. 
You  know  what  them  things  is. 

Crane.  Say,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  before  that 
Smithfield  was  your  brother? 

Jane.  Faith,  I  can't  see  what  difiFerence  it  makes 
at  all. 

Crane.  (Now  suddenly  high-spirited)  Why,  it 
makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world.    If  he's  your 

brother  he's  got  a  perfect  right  to (Coughs 

and  moves  to  l.  several  steps.) 

Jane.    To  what? 

Crane.  (Returning  to  c.)  Ah — er — that  is  to 
say,  I  apologize  for  everything  I've  said  since  you 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        97 

came  in  here,  and  I  ask  you  most  humbly  if  you 
won't  be  so  kind  as  to  help  me  out.  You  are  going 
to  be  an  angel  and  serve  dinner,  aren't  you? 

Jane.  Didn't  I  say  I  would  if  I  was  asked  polite- 
like? 

Crane.  Thank  you,  thank  you,  ah !  Indeed,  Jane- 
Ellen  you  are  an  angel.  (He  exits  door  l.c.  Jane? 
follows  around  to  L.c.j 

(After  a  moment,   Smith  field  peeks  in,  around 
screen.) 

Smithfield.     Hist ! 

Jane.  (Starting.  Goes  to  hack  of  table  c.)  Oh, 
Paul !  You  frightened  me.  Where's  Bess  and 
Charley  ? 

Smithfield.    Up  in  the  garret  playing  checkers. 

Jane.  The  poor  dears  must  be  starved.  Tell 
them  not  to  make  any  noise.  I'll  slip  up  after  din- 
ner and  bring  you  a  bit,  if  there's  any  left.  Now  be 
quiet,  all  of  you!  (Crosses  down  to  chair  l.  of 
table.) 

Smithfield.  Yes!  But  what  are  you  going  to 
do? 

Jane.     I  told  you. 

Smithfield.     But  it's  no  use.    The  game's  up. 

Jane.  All  the  same,  I'm  going  to  stay  and  see 
the  last  card  played. 

Smithfield.  What's  the  good?  He's  going  to 
break  the  lease  and  get  out  to-morrow.  I  heard  old 
Tucker  telephoning  to  Randy  to  come  over  at  once. 
You  can't  do  anything.  Come  on.  Let's  all  get 
away. 

Jane.     No,  indeed. 

Smithfield.  (Going  toward  her.  Easy)  You're 
not  going  to  go  on,  doing  this  man's  work  ? 

Jane.    He  may  change  his  mind. 


98        COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 
Smithfield.    Livy- 


Jane.    Besides,  the  poor  man's  got  to  eat. 

Smithfield.  Now  look  here,  Livy,  I  think 
you 

Jane.  Hsh !  Somebody's  coming !  (Drops  down 
R.c.  to  sideboard.)  , 

(Smithfield    hastily   goes    out    at   r.c.    Tucker 
comes  in  from  the  hall  door  l.C.) 

Tucker.     Ah,  Jane-Ellen- 


Jane.    Good  evenin',  Misther  Tucker. 

Tucker.  (Close  to  her)  The  time  has  come 
sooner  than  we  thought  when  I  can  be  of  assistance 
to  you. 

Jane.  Yes,  indade,  sor.  (She  thrusts  a  carving 
knife  and  fork  into  his  hands.)  'Tis  a  dale  of  work 
for  a  poor  girl.  Will  ye  kindly  put  them  at  Mr. 
Crane's  place?  Right  over  there.  (He  hesitates, 
then  awkwardly  puts  knife  and  fork  ends  toward 
armchair  l.  end  of  table.) 

Tucker.  (Starting  toward  her)  I'm  very  sorry 
indeed  that  things  have  happened  so.  But  you  see, 
Mr.  Crane 

Jane.  (Waving  him  back)  Oh,  sor,  not  that 
way.  Niver  turn  the  point  av  a  knife  toward  the 
chair.     'Tis  bad  luck,  sor. 

Tucker.     Oh,  indeed!     (Places  knife  and  fork 

properly.)    But,  as  I  was  saying (Jane  blows 

out  candles  down  r.  end  of  the  sideboard  r.) 

Jane.  Faith,  'tis  a  wicked  bad  butler  ye'd  make, 
an'  no  mistake. 

Tucker.  (Returning  to  her  at  the  sideboard) 
There  is  something  I  want  to  say  to  you  before  any- 
one comes  in. 

Jane.  Have  ye  a  match  about  ye,  now?  (She 
holds    candelabra    between    Tucker    and    herself. 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN        99 

Tucker  produces  a  gold  match-hox.)  Av  course. 
Sure  ye're  a  match  for  anywan,  so  ye  are  now.  Will 
ye  kindly  be  lighting  'em  for  me? 

Tucker.  (Lights  candles  as  Jane  holds  them 
up.)  I  suppose  you  know  Mr.  Crane  is  leaving  to- 
morrow. 

Jane.    So  I've  heard,  sor. 

Tucker.    And  you  are  about  to  lose  your  place. 

Jane.    Yis,  sor.    'Tis  the  first  wan  I  iver  lost. 

Tucker.  (Insinuatingly)  Why  not  make  it  the 
last?     (Candle  and  nose  business.) 

Jane.     Sor  ? 

Tucker.  Why  not  come  to  me?  I  could  offer 
you  a  position  you  need  never  leave. 

Jane.     Please  leave  me  pass.  sor. 

Tucker.  Not  till  you've  heard  me.  (She  rings 
silver  dinner  bell  violently  with  her  left  hand,  hold- 
ing candle  in  right.)    Ah,  my  dear  child (He 

moves  toward  her,  looking  very  much  as  if  he  in- 
tended to  embrace  her.  She  avoids  him.)  Jane- 
Ellen,  what  are  you  doing? 

Jane.  Faith,  sor,  I  can't  be  runnin'  all  over  the 
house  callin'  people  to  dinner. 

Tucker.  There's  something  I  want  you  to — 
tell 

(Enter  Crane  hastily  door  l.c.     Tucker  crosses 
front  of  table  to  L.j 

Crane.  (Coming  to  c,  back  of  table.  To  Tucker, 
who  looks  rather  sheepish)  What  the  deuce  are 
you  doing  here.  Tuck  ? 

Tucker.  I — ah — I  was  assisting  Jane-Ellen  to 
set  the  table.  (Jane-Ellen  laughs  and  exits 
through  screen  door.) 

Crane.    The  devil  you  were ! 


loo       COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Tucker.  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  question  my 
word? 

Crane.    You  bet  I  do! 

Tucker.  (At  door)  And  may  I  ask  what  you 
think  I  was  doing? 

Crane.  Well,  I  don't  think  you  were  picking 
daisies. 

(Tucker  exits  indignantly  at  door  l.c,  closing  it 

after  him.) 

Crane.     Jane-Ellen — Jane-Ellen! 

Jane.    (Entering)    Yis,  sor. 

Crane.    Was  Mr.  Tucker  making  love  to  you? 

Jane.    Well,  sor,  I  couldn't  be  sayin'  for  sure. 

Crane.    Nonsense !    Don't  you  know  ? 

Jane.  Faith,  then,  how's  a  poor  girl  to  know? 
The  gintlemen  have  so  many  ways  of  makin'  love. 

Crane.  (Turning  to  look  at  Jane,  who  stands 
up  R.  of  the  screen.  Crane  is  l.  of  it.)  The 
trouble  with  you  is,  Jane-Ellen,  that  you  are  a  damn 
sight  too  pretty. 

Jane.     Oh,  Mr.  Crane,  stop  yer  blarney. 

Crane.  (Imitating  her  brogue)  As  if  every  man 
you  know  for  the  last  five  years  had  not  been  saying 
the  same  thing  to  you. 

Jane.  (Giving  him  a  sidelong  look)  Sure,  sor, 
none  av  thim  was  iver  afther  sayin'  it  quite  like 
that,  sor.  (Swiftly  she  turns  and  is  gone  into  the 
butler's  pantry.  Crane  laughs  and  watches  her  off. 
She  changes  to  maid's  black  dress.) 

(Voices  of  men  are  heard  in  the  hall.    Crane  turns 
as  Lefferts  and  Weeks  enter  door  l.c.) 

Crane.  Ah !  Mr.  Weeks !  Mr.  Lefferts !  Glad 
you  could  come  at  such  short  notice,  Mr.  Weeks. 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN       loi 

Weeks.  (At  mantel)  Well,  I'm  not  far  away, 
but  I  couldn't  have  made  it  without  the  little  Ford. 

Lefferts,  (Near  window  l.)  Yes,  it's  the  motor 
car  that  makes  country  life  possible. 

Crane.  Yes,  and  it's  the  Ford  makes  it  prob- 
able.    (Laughs.     Goes  to  sideboard.) 

Lefferts  Very  true — but  tell  me  where  are  the 
ladies  ? 

Crane.  (Who  has  busied  himself  at  the  side- 
board.)    Oh,  didn't  Tucker  tell  you? 

Lefferts.     No. 

Crane.     They  were  suddenly  called  away. 

Lefferts.    Called  away? 

Crane.  Yes.  I'm  sorry — but  one  of  them  felt 
that  both  of  them  must  go. 

Lefferts.  Humph !  (Crosses  to  front  of  table 
R.)     No  need  to  ask  which  one. 

Crane.  I  think  not.  And  one  of  them  left  a  note 
for  you.     (Gives  Lefferts  a  note.) 

Lefferts.  (c.  Delighted.  Opens  letter  and 
moving  L.  a  little)    Thank  you. 

Crane.  (At  sideboard.  A  pause  while  Lefferts 
opens  his  note  and  reads.)  By  the  way,  Mr.  Lef- 
ferts, as  a  professional  statistician,  you've  probably 
heard  of  a  periodical  called  "The  Financier." 

Lefferts.    Oh,  yes.    (Puts  letter  in  pocket.) 

Crane.  Well,  I  own  it.  Never  read  it,  but  I  own 
it.  Don't  know  a  damn  thing  about  it.  I  inherited 
it.     I  need  an  editor.     Could  you  do  it? 

Lefferts.  I?  (Going  a  little  up  to  Crane,  very 
surprised.) 

Crane.  Yes — ^present  editor's  leaving.  He 
doesn't  know  it,  but  he  is.     Like  the  job? 

Lefferts.  Would  I ! ! !  (Weeks  moves  hack  to 
mantel.) 

Crane.    (At  sideboard,  pouring  sherry  from  de- 


102      COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

canter  into  four  glasses)  Give  you  five  thousand 
dollars  to  start  with,  if  that's  enough. 

Lefferts.  (Going  to  him)  Enough !  You'd  bet- 
ter look  out  or  I'll  kiss  you.  But,  joking  apart,  you 
don't  know  what  this  means  to  me.  (They  shake 
hands.) 

Crane.  Oh,  that's  all  right.  (Lefferts  drops 
down  R.  Enter  TuckerJ  Ah,  here's  the  genial 
Tuck.  (Crane  crosses  to  sideboard.)  Just  in  time 
for  a  glass  of  sherry.  (Gives  the  men  their  glasses.) 
Tuck,  you  know  Mr.  Lefferts? 

Tucker.    (Coldly)    I  have  heard  of  him. 

Lefferts.    Favorably,  I  trust. 

Tucker.    From  my  sister,  Mrs.  Faulkner,  sir. 

Crane.  Well,  here's  a  toast.  Here's  to  Cupid, 
the  statistician.     (All  laugh.) 

Weeks.  Don't  know  what  it  means,  but  here's 
to  it.     (All  laugh  and  drink.) 

Crane.  Oh,  any  toast  will  do,  if  the  drink's 
right. 

Lefferts.  (Smacking  his  lips)  Ah!  Now, 
that's  something  like  sherry.     (Weeks  moves  l.) 

Tucker.  (Putting  glass  on  sideboard  and  going 
c.  behind  table)  Very  good  wine  indeed,  Burton, 
very  good.  (To  Weeks  J  Are  you  fond  of  sherry, 
Mr.  Weeks? 

Weeks,    Oh,  we  drink  quite  a  lot  of  it  down  here. 

(During  the  last  two  speeches  Crane  has  shown 
Lefferts  the  handkerchief  he  picked  up  in  the 
Second  Act.  As  if  saying,  "There's  going  to  he 
some  fun  with  Weeks."    c,  hack  of  table) 

Crane.  Oh,  by  the  way,  Mr.  Weeks,  this  is  yours, 
I  think.  (He  takes  handkerchief  from  his  pocket 
and  gives  it  to  Weeks.J 

Weeks.  (Coming  to  his  r..  Tucker  going  down 
L.j     Mine? 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN       103 

Crane.  Yes. — "R.  W."— your  initials,  aren't 
they? 

Weeks.  (Rattled,  taking  handkerchief)  Why, 
yes — yes — it  must  be  mine.    (Moves  l.c.  j 

Crane.  I  found  it  in  the  kitchen  this  afternoon. 
(Lefferts  laughs.) 

Tucker.  (Looking  at  Weeks,  then  to  Crane) 
Where? 

Crane.    In  the  kitchen. 

(Tucker  turns  a  glare  of  illumination  on  Weeks, 
Then  Tucker  goes  up  stage.) 

Weeks.  (Moving  down  l.)  Yes — yes — thank 
you  very  much — er — awfully  warm  for  this  time 
of  year. 

Crane.  Very.  Pray  be  seated,  gentlemen — Mr. 
Weeks,  Mr.  Lefferts,  Mr.  Tucker. 

(Lefferts  sits  r.  end  of  table;  Weeks  sits  with 
back  to  audience.  Tucker  sits  at  back  of  the 
table,  facing  Weeks. j 

Tucker.    I  am  ready,  for  one. 

Crane,     (All  seated.)    Always,  Tuck,  always. 

(Jane  Ellen  enters  with  soup  plates.  She  crosses 
to  Crane  as  if  to  put  them  on  the  table.  Crane 
jumps  from  his  chair,  taking  the  soup  plates 
from  tray.    He  watches  Jane-Ellen  exit.) 

Lefferts.  Wonderfully  attractive  country  around 
here,  Mr.  Weeks,  isn't  it? 

Weeks.  Glad  you  appreciate  it,  Mr.  Lefferts. 
Is  this  your  first  visit  down  here? 

Lefferts.  Yes.  I  am — ^as  you've  probably 
guessed,  a  Northerner. 


104      COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

(Tucker  turns,  sees  Crane  holding  plates  and  gases 
toward  the  butler's  pantry.) 

Tucker.  Burton,  what  are  you  doing  with  the 
soup  plates? 

(Crane^  rather  annoyed,  sits  down,  putting  soup 
plates  in  front  of  him.) 

Weeks.  I  hope  this  wont  be  your  last  visit,  Mr. 
Lefferts.    Where  are  you  staying? 

(Jane  Ellen  brings  on  soup  tureen.  Takes  it  to 
Crane.  He  removes  it  from  tray  and  places  it 
in  front  of  him.    Starts  to  serve.) 

Lefferts.  I  am  staying  with  some  friends,  the 
Randolphs — friends  of  yours,  I  believe. 

Weeks.  Yes.  Jack  Randolph  and  I  went  to 
school  together. 

Tucker.  (To  Leffertsj  May  I  trouble  you  for 
the  olives,  please? 

Lefferts.  (Passing  them)  Yes,  I  think  I  heard 
Jack  speak  of  you. 

Weeks.  We  had  three  years  at  school  together 
at  Charlottesville.  You  are  very  fortunate  to  be 
here  this  season  of  the  year. 

Lefferts.    How's  that  ? 

Weeks.     This  is  our  hunting  season,  you  know. 

Tucker.    Will  you  please  pass  me  the  almonds? 

Lefferts.  Oh,  yes.  (Passes  them,  rather  an- 
noyed.) 

(By  this  time  Jane-Ellen  has  served  soup  to 
Weeks.  Weeks  has  not  noticed  that  it  is  Jane- 
Ellen  who  is  serving  the  table.  As  she  puts 
the  soup  plate  down  he  sees  her  hand  and  arm 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN       105 

are  obviously  not  those  of  Smithfield.  His 
eyes  follow  her  arm  up  till  they  come  to  her 
face.  He  is  horrified.  Jane-Ellen  makes  a 
face  at  him  and  turns  back  to  get  soup  for 
Lefferts.    Passes  soup  to  Lefferts.^ 

Tucker.  (As  Jane  passes  soup  to  Lefferts^ 
Will  you  please  pass  me  the  salt  ?  (This  time  Lef- 
ferts passes  him  salt,  pepper,  the  butter-dish,  but- 
ter knife,  and  anything  else  he  can  think  of.  Jane- 
Ellen  has  given  soup  to  Tucker.  Exit  Jane-El- 
len, returning  almost  immediately.  Men  start  to 
drink  their  soup.) 

Crane.    How  is  the  soup,  Tuck? 
Tucker.      Excellent,   Burton,   excellent.      (Jane 
stands  with  fray  in  hand  with  back  to  the  screen.) 
Lefferts.     Very  soothing.     (Pause.) 
Weeks.    Just  right.    Just  right.    (Pause.) 
Crane.     You  can't  beat  these  people  down  here 
for  soup. 

(Crane  signals  to  Jane,  who  removes  soup  plates, 
going  to  Weeks  first,  then  Lefferts  second. 
As  Jane  takes  Lefferts'  plate  he  looks  up  at 
her,  and  as  she  exits  with  plates  to  pantry  it  is 
almost  as  if  he  was  drawn  out  of  his  chair  by 
her  charm.  He  takes  a  few  steps  toward  the 
pantry,  then  turns,  facing  the  audience,  saying,) 

Lefferts.  By  jove!  that  must  be  the  face  that 
launched  a  thousand  ships. 

Crane.  I  beg  your  pardon.  (Lefferts  sits 
down  again.) 

Tucker,  No,  it's  the  cook — ^and  you've  seen  her 
before,  too. 

Lefferts.  Oh,  yes,  oh,  yes!  Very  lovely  little 
person,  don't  you  think  so? 


io6      COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Tucker.  (In  a  superior  manner)  I  confess  I 
have  not  been  able  to  take  much  interest  in  the  per- 
sonal appearance  of  servants. 

Crane.    Really,  Tuck  ? 

Lefferts.  I  say  beauty  is  beauty  wherever  you 
find  it. 

(Jane  brings  in  plate  of  corn  bread  and  places  it 
c.  of  table.  She  takes  up  tureen  and  exits  into 
pantry.) 

Tucker.  Such  a  preoccupation  with  beauty  has 
always  struck  us  as  decadent. 

Lefferts.  What,  exactly,  Mr.  Tucker,  is  your 
definition  of  decadent? 

Tucker.  Decadent — ^is — decadent  is — it  is  simple 
enough,  I  think — decadent  is 

Crane.     Yes,  Tuck,  what  is  it? 

Tucker,     I  shall  trouble  you  for  the  almonds. 

Lefferts.    A  very  comprehensive  definition. 

Tucker.  During  a  long  and  varied  experience  at 
the  bar 

Lefferts.    Anyhow,  the  soup  was  delicious. 

(Jane  enters  with  the  roast  chicken  on  platter  and 
places  it  before  Crane,  then  goes  with  vege- 
tables on  tray  to  serving  table.) 

Crane.  Mr.  Lefferts  has  been  complimenting 
your  soup,  Jane-Ellen. 

Jane-Ellen.    Thank  you,  sor. 

Weeks.  Look  here,  Mr.  Crane,  what  I  should 
like  to  ask,  is  what  has  become  of  Smithfield  ? 

Crane.  (Carving  chicken)  Smithfield — oh, 
Smithfield  is  indisposed. 

Weeks.    You — ^you  mean  he  is  sick? 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN      107 

(Jane  hands  plates  to  three  men — Weeks,   Lef- 
FERTS  and  Tucker  J 

Crane.     No,  no,  no,  I  am  sick.     Sick  of  him. 

(Tucker  laughs  and  guffaws  with  his  mouth  full.) 

Crane.  (Continuing)  I  have  discharged  him, 
also  the  boy  Brindy  and  the  housemaid,  Araminta. 

Weeks.     What ! 

Crane.     Yes,  Mr.  Weeks. 

Weeks.  You  mean — er — er — ^you  mean  to  tell 
me  that  you  and  Mr.  Tucker  and  the  cook  are  alone 
in  this  house  ? 

Crane.  I  regret  to  say  that  Mr.  Tucker  also 
leaves  me  this  evening. 

Weeks.  But — but — but (Jane  goes  to  serv- 
ing table  for  vegetables.) 

Crane.  Not  now,  Mr.  Weeks,  a  little  later.  Af- 
ter dinner,  for  the  present  let's  enjoy  ourselves. 

Tucker.  Yes,  yes,  yes,  will  you  please  help  me 
to  some  butter?  (He  discovers  butter  where  Lef- 
FERTS  placed  it.    Jane  serves  the  vegetables.) 

Weeks.  Certainly,  by  all  means,  but  what  I 
should  like  to  ask  you,  you  can't  mean,  you  don't 
intend  to 

Crane.  I  won't  trouble  you  with  my  particular 
plans.  My  experience,  Mr.  Weeks,  has  been  that 
nobody  cares  anything  about  anybody  else's  trifling, 
little  plans.     Their  small,  domestic  complications. 

Lefferts.  Oh,  come  now,  I'm  not  so  sure.  It 
Strikes  me  Mr.  Weeks  is  very  much  interested, 
aren't  you? 

Weeks.  (Stammering,  but  determined)  Yes — 
yes — I  am — extremely — sincerely.  You  see,  I  know 
what  would  be  said  in  a  community  like  this — ^wbat 
would  be  thought.    You — ^you  get  my  idea? 


io8      COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Crane.  Not  exactly,  and  what  is  more,  what 
people  think  is  a  matter  of  small  consequence  to  me. 

Weeks.  Yes — yes — as  a  rule,  of  course — but  in 
this  case  I'm  sure  you'd  agree  with  me  if  I  can 
only 

Crane.  Doubtless,  doubtless,  but  what  is  it  ex- 
actly that  you  do  mean? 

Lefferts.  It's  perfectly  clear.  Mr.  Weeks  means 
that  in  such  a  small  community  as  this  if  a  young 
woman  should  find  herself  in  a  position  considered 
compromising-  by  all  the  most  prominent  novelists 
and  dramatists,  she  would 

(Jane-Ellen,  in  passing  the  vegetable  dishes,  man- 
ages to  rub  hot  dish  against  Tucker's  neck.) 

Tucker.  (Leaping  to  his  feet  with  something 
like  a  curse)  Oh !  Ouch !  What  the  devil  are  you 
doing  ? 

Jane.    Oh,  sor,  an'  I'm  so  terrible  sorry. 

Tucker.    Sorry  I    Huh !    (Mopping  at  his  neck.) 

Jane.  I'm  not  much  used  to  waitin'  on  the  table. 
(Puts  vegetables  down,  gets  bottle  of  claret  and 
crosses.) 

Crane.  Tuck!  Tuck!  It's  all  right,  Jane-El- 
len. Don't  give  it  another  thought.  (Sees  Tucker, 
whose  face  is  twisted  with  anger.)  Mr.  Tucker  has 
forgotten  it  already,  haven't  you.  Tuck  ? 

Tucker.  (Angrily)  Oh,  yes,  yes,  of  course. 
(Tucker  sits  again.) 

Lefferts.  (Looking  about)  What  a  fine  old 
house  this  is.     I'd  like  to  know  its  history. 

Tucker.  Well,  sir,  it  belongs,  as  you  perhaps 
know,  to  a  family  named  Daingerfield,  who  held  a 
highly  honored  place  in  the  history  of  this  country 
until  they  unfortunately  espoused  the  wrong  side  of 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN       109 

the  Civil  War.  (Jane  indignant  at  this.  She  turns 
away  without  serving  Tucker  with  wine.) 

Tucker.  Here,  here!  Burton,  she  has  omitted 
me. 

Crane.  Jane-Ellen,  you  have  omitted  Mr.  Tucker. 

Jane.  Oh,  yes,  sir.  (Fills  Tucker's  glass  and 
exits.) 

Weeks.  (Angrily)  In  this  part  of  the  country, 
sir,  we  are  not  accustomed  to  thinking  it  the  wrong 
side. 

Tucker.  (Bowing  slightly)  1  believe,  sir,  that 
I  am  voicing  the  verdict  of  history. 

Crane.  (Lifting  his  glass  to  stay  the  quarrel) 
Gentlemen,  I  am  very  pleased  to  see  you  all  here. 
(All  raise  their  glasses  and  take  a  sip.) 

Lefferts.  (Having  started  an  embarrassing 
topic,  is  now  anxious  to  turn  the  talk  to  safer  chan- 
nels) Anyhow,  the  present  generation  of  Dainger- 
fields  seems  to  be  an  amusing  lot. 

(Jane  enters  and  goes  to  serving  table.) 

Lefferts.  Randolph  was  speaking  about  them 
only  last  night.  He  says  one  of  the  girls  is  par- 
ticularly enchanting — now  what  was  her  name? 
Such  a  pretty  one — oh,  yes,  Olivia. 

Jane.     (From  the  serving  table)    Yes,  sor? 

(Weeks  is  terrified  at  this.     Jane-Ellen  serves 
vegetables  again  to  Lefferts.J 

Crane.  No  one  spoke  to  you,  Jane-Ellen.  (He 
continues  to  look  at  her.) 

Jane.     No,  sor. 

Lefferts.  Randolph  said  she  was  a  wholesale 
fascinator — engaged  to  three  men  at  one  time  last 
summer. 


no      COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Weeks.  (Springing  to  his  feet)  Mr.  Lefferts, 
I'd  be  obliged  to  you,  sir,  if  you'd  tell  Mr.  Randolph 
with  my  compliments  that  that's  not  true. 

Lefferts.    Oh !    Isn't  it  ?    Well,  I'm  sorry. 

Weeks.  Oh,  I  don't  blame  you.  You're  a 
stranger  here,  but  I  do  blame  him  for  circulating 
this  groundless  gossip  about  one  of  the  loveliest 
young  ladies  in  this  State. 

Jane.  (Presenting  vegetables)  Potatoes,  sor? 
(Weeks  and  Jane  exchange  bitter  glances.) 

Weeks.  Thank  you,  no.  (Jane-Ellen  goes  to 
sideboard.    Exits  with  vegetables  on  tray.) 

Lefferts.  Awfully  sorry,  Mr.  Weeks,  but  really 
I  thought  it  all  rather  to  the  lady's  credit — espe- 
cially in  a  neighborhood  where  it  must  be  rather 
dull  if  you  don't  care  for  hunting. 

Weeks.  (In  great  exasperation)  That's  not  the 
point !     The  point  is  that  it's  not  true ! 

Lefferts.  (Conciliatory)  As  you  say,  just  as 
you  say. 

(Enter  Jane.    She  takes  Lefferts'  plate  into  pan- 
try, then  to  Crane's  plate  and  Weeks' J 

Weeks.  (Now  much  excited)  Miss  Olivia 
Daingerfield  is  one  of  the  most  admired  and  re- 
spected young  ladies  in  Virginia, — I  may  say  in 
the  entire  South.  I  have  known  her  and  her  fam- 
ily since  they  were  children, — er 

Tucker,    Eh  ? 

Weeks.  Since  she  was  a  child — and  I  should 
certainly  have  known  if  anything  of  this  kind  had 
been  the  case.  (Jane-Ellen  exits  into  pantry  with 
Crane's  plate.) 

Lefferts.  Undoubtedly  you  are  right,  Mr. 
Weeks,  undoubtedly.  Yet  I  confess  I  never  heard 
of  a  girl  announcing  more  than  one  engagement  at  a 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN      in 
time,  though  once  or  twice  I  have  known  girls  who 


(During  Lefferfs'  speech,  as  Jane-Ellen  passes 
behind  Tucker,  he  drops  his  napkin.  While 
he  stoops  to  pick  it  up,  she  takes  his  plate  away. 
When  he  discovers  the  loss  of  his  dinner  it  is 
the  last  straw.  He  looks  first  at  the  table,  won- 
dering where  his  dinner  has  gone.  Then  he 
looks  after  Jane-Ellen  as  she  exits,  partly  with 
anger  and  partly  with  pathos.) 

Tucker.     (Exclaiming)     Burton,  my  dinner- 


Crane.  Excuse  me.  She's  not  used  to  serving, 
but  she's  doing  quite  well. 

(Crane  and  Jane,  with  ice  cream,  meet  face  to  face 
R.  Crane  rises  and  crosses  to  door  r.c.  with 
chicken  and  platter,  meeting  Jane  with  the  ice- 
cream bowl.  She  puts  down  bowl  and  takes 
platter  from  Crane,  putting  it  in  pantry.) 

Crane.     Pardon  me,  Mr.  Lefferts,  I  interrupted 

you.    We  were  speaking  of (Returns  to  table 

and  sits.) 

Lefferts.  I  was  speaking  of  the  fascinating  idea 
of  a  young  lady  being  engaged  to  three  men  at  the 
same  time. 

Crane.    Perhaps  that  is  the  coming  fashion. 

Lefferts.  (Interrupting)  I  think  perhaps  you 
might  tell  us,  Mr.  Weeks,  what  the  great  beauty  of 
the  country  looks  like. 

Weeks.  I  can't  think  this  is  the  time  or  place  for 
retailing  the  charms  of  a  young  lady — as  if  it  were 
a  slave  market.  (Jane-Ellen  takes  ice-cream  bowl 
to  Weeks. J 

Jane.    (To  Weeks  ^    Ice  cream,  sor? 


112      COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Weeks.     (Helping  himself)    Thank  you. 

Lefferts.  It  does  not  seem  to  me  that  I  have 
spoken  at  all  disrespectfully  of  the  lady. 

Tucker.    Certainly  not !     Certainly  not ! 

Crane.  It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Weeks,  if  you'll 
pardon  my  saying  so,  that  you  couldn't  be  any  more 
touchy  about  it  if  you  yourself  had  been  one  of  the 
young  lady's  simultaneous  fiances.  (Jane  turns 
slightly  up  c,  laughing.) 

(Tucker  has  been  looking  with  admiring  eyes  at  the 
ice  cream,  and  when  Lefferts  has  helped  him- 
self he  naturally  thinks  he  will  he  served  next, 
and  turns,  almost  putting  his  hand  out  to  take, 
the  spoon,  when  Jane-Ellen  deliberately  passes 
him  and  goes  to  Crane.j 

Weeks.  Nothing  of  the  sort,  sir.  Nothing  of 
the  sort 

Crane.  Oh,  of  course  not.  Nobody  says  you 
were.  Still,  I  see  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  give 
us  a  hint  as  to  whether  Miss  Daingerfield  is  blonde 
or  brunette,  tall  or  short.  (Jane,  on  Crane's  l., 
offers  him  ice  cream.) 

Weeks.  (Now  thoroughly  wretched,  Tvith  a  glance 
at  Jane-Ellen)  Perhaps,  perhaps  I  see  reasons 
that  you  do  not.  (Jane  now  passes  cream  to 
Tucker.  J 

Crane.  Perhaps.  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  Jane-El- 
len is  well  acquainted  with  Miss  Daingerfied. 

(Jane  takes  ice  cream  off.) 

Weeks.    Oh,  no — ^no. 

Crane.    What?    Have  you  forgotten  the  excel- 
lent testimonial  the  lady  gave  our  cook? 
Weeks.    Eh  ? 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN       113 

Crane.  I  think  you  were  present  when  Mrs. 
Falkner  read  it  aloud. 

Weeks.  Oh — oh — yes— certainly.  (Jane  enters 
and  goes  to  sideboard.) 

Crane.  (Rising)  Jane-Ellen,  you've  often  seen 
Miss  Olivia  Daingerfield? 

Jane.  (At  sideboard.  Takes  taper  from  cigar 
tray  and  lights  taper  at  candelabra  down  r.  and 
lights  spirit  lamp  on  the  cigar  tray.)  Yes,  sor,  now 
and  thin. 

Crane.    Tell  us,  what  was  she  like  ? 

Jane.  (Coming  forward,  thoughtfully)  Well, 
sor,  it's  not  for  the  likes  av  me  to  say  a  word  ag'in' 
a  young  lady  that  Misther  Weeks  admires  so  much. 
('Weeks  flicks  his  napkin  zvarningly  below  table  to 
JaneJ  All  the  same,  I  got  me  own  reasons  for 
thinkin'  there  was  more  in  thim  yarns  about  her 
bein'  numerous  engaged  than  what  Misther  Weeks 
appears  to  be  thinkin'.  Servants  picks  up  a  good 
deal,  sor,  an'  they  do  say  that  Miss  Daingerfield, 
she 

Weeks.     (Bursting  out)    Olivia! 

Jane.  Yis,  sor.  Miss  Olivia  Daingerfield.  There 
bein'  two  av  thim,  Miss  Olivia  an'  Miss  Elizabeth, 

and  as  far  looks,  now (Reflecting)    Well,  she 

was  a  very  tall — a  little  taller  than  yourself. 

Crane.    With  flashing  black  eyes,  per'haps. 

Jane.    Yis,  sor,  an'  heaps  av  blue-black  hair. 

Crane.  And  a  deep  contralto  voice — a.  perfect 
goddess,  in  fact. 

Jane.  Oh,  yes — ^yes — a  perfect  goddess,  except 
for  a  bit  av  a  cast  in  wan  eye.     (Lefferts  laughs.) 

Weeks.  Nothing  of  the  sort!  Nothing  of  the 
sort! 

Jane.  Well,  sor,  of  coorse,  'twas  no  more  than  a 
little  wee  wan,  an'  ye  couldn't  be  seein'  it  at  all,  un- 
less ye  was  very  close  to  thj^  young  lady.    Mebbe 


114       COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

that's  why  Misther  Weeks  was  niver  afther  seein' 
it. 

Weeks.     Nothing  of  the  sort. 

Jane.  An'  she  had  a  terrible,  dignified  way  wid 
her — oh,  terrible  dignified !  She'd  make  you  shake 
in  your  shoes,  she  would.  (Gets  cigar  tray  from 
sideboard.) 

Crane.  Jane-Ellen,  we're  very  much  obliged  to 
you.  It  was  perfect.  I  feel  almost  as  if  Miss  Olivia 
Daingerfield  were  standing  here  this  moment  before 
me. 

Jane.  (Stands  r.  with  tray  in  hand,  then  moves 
to  L.  of  Lefferts.  j  Faith,  sor,  if  she  was,  wouldn't 
it  be  you  that'd  be  standin'  ? 

(Lefferts  takes  cigarettes  and  lighter  which  she 
places  on  table.  Jane  crosses  to  sideboard  and 
blows  candles  out.) 

Crane.  For  my  part,  I  had  imagined  her  as  quite 
diflFerent.  I  had  supposed  her,  for  instance,  of  me- 
dium height,  soft  blue  eyes,  soft  light  brown  hair, 

and  a  mouth (Jane  exits  to  pantry.     Crane 

hesitates  and  looks  at  Jane-Ellen  as  if  for  an  in- 
spiration.) 

Weeks.  (Remains  seated.)  I  regret  to  say,  Mr. 
Crane,  that  if  this  conversation  continues  to  deal 
disrespectfully  with  the  appearance  of  a  young  lady 
— (He  rises  angrily) — for  whom 

(Jane-Ellen  re-enters  from  pantry  imth  after-din- 
ner coffee.  Jane-Ellen  serves  coffee,  serving 
as  follows — Lefferts,  Weeks,  Crane  and 
Tucker.  As  she  puts  down  Tucker's  cup  she 
also  puts  sugar  bowl  down.  As  Tucker  puts 
out  his  hand  to  take  sugar,  she  pushes  it  to 
Lefferts.    The  men  take  cigars  and  cigarettes. 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN       115 

Jane  exits  into  pantry.  The  men  now  settle 
down  to  smoke,  leaning  back  in  their  chairs. 
Taking  the  cue  from  Crane,  all  expel  a  cloud 
of  smoke  from  their  mouths  at  the  same  mo- 
ment.   There  is  a  slight  pause.) 

Crane.  Disrespectfully!  Nonsense!  Now,  I 
leave  it  to  you,  gentlemen,  whether  anything  disre- 
spectful has  been  said  of  Jane-Ellen's  old  employer. 
(Murmurs  from  all,  "No!    Certainly  not!" ) 

i(jANE,  haviyig  finished,  exits  into  pantry.  Ad  Kb. 
talk  and  bus.  of  cloud  of  smoke  from  each  of 
the  four.) 

Lefferts.  (Having  finished)  Ah !  That  chicken 
was  delicious  and  those  sweet  potatoes,  Southern 
style — um !    Can't  get  'em  up  North. 

Crane.    Mr.  Weeks,  you've  eaten  nothing. 

Weeks.    No — I — I  wasn't  very  hungry. 

Lefferts.  (Solemnly)  Late  luncheon,  Mr. 
Weeks  ? 

Weeks.    Yes — rather. 

Lefferts,  Nothing  the  matter  with  your  appe- 
tite, Mr.  Tucker. 

Crane.  No,  Tuck,  in  all  the  excitement,  I  believe 
you  never  missed  a  stroke.  (Tucker  hurriedly 
places  coffee  down  and  jerks  his  chair  angrily  back.) 

Lefferts.  (To  Tuckerj  You're  a  friend  of  the 
kitchen.     (All  laugh  at  Tucker.^ 

Tucker.  Possibly — possibly.  (Pointedly)  How 
did  you  like  our  kitchen  yourself  ?  (Lefferts  a  bit 
jarred,  coughs.) 

Crane.  (Coming  to  his  rescue)  How  do  you 
like  it.  Tuck?  (Tucker  coughs.  To  Weeks;  Nice 
kitchen,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Weeks  ?  (Weeks  is  just  drink- 
ing coffee  and  some  of  it  goes  the  wrong  way.) 


li6      COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 
(Jane  enters  and  goes  down  to  the  sideboard.) 

Weeks.    Oh,  the  kitchen's  all  right,  I  reckon. 

Crane.  (Rising  as  he  sees  Jane  re-entering) 
Gentlemen,  stand.  (All  rise,  glasses  in  hand.)  To 
the — ah — kitchen ! 

(Jane  exits  quickly  into  pantry.) 

Lefferts.  (All  seated  again)  By  the  way,  where 
are  all  these  Daingerfields,  anyhow? 

Crane.  I  understand  Mr.  Weeks  to  say  that  Colo- 
nel and  Mrs.  Daingerfield  were  abroad.  (Jane  re- 
enters and  goes  to  sideboard.)  The  Coloners  quite 
ill,  I  believe,  or  am  I  wrong? 

Weeks.    Yes,  that's  true. 

Crane.    Not  seriously,  I  hope? 

(Jane-Ellen,  at  the  sideboard,  closely  watched  by 
Crane,  follows  the  conversation  with  the  ut- 
most anxiety  as  she  puts  liqueur  glasses  on  tray. 

Weeks.  Unfortunately,  yes.  There  has  been  a 
very  serious  operation  recently  in  Vienna.  In  the 
absence  of  the  family,  I,  as  their  agent,  receive  their 
telegrams  and  mail.  Just  before  I  came  here  this 
evening  there  was  a  cable  to  say  that  the  Colonel  was 
out  of  danger. 

Crane.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad.  (Jane  exits  into  pantry 
again.)  Of  course  you  have  forwarded  the  good 
news  to  the  children? 

Weeks.    Oh,  yes — yes — I  have. 

Lefferts.    Where  are  they,  did  you  say? 

Crane.    Yes,  Mr.  Weeks,  where  are  they? 

Weeks.  (Who  has  reached  the  limit  of  endur- 
ance) I  regret — I'm  not  at  liberty  to  say.  (Weeks 
rises  and  crosses  to  R. j 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN       117 

Lefferts.  Oh,  I'm  very  sorry.  Really,  I — 
wouldn't  have  asked  for  the  world. 

Weeks.  And  what  is  more,  Mr.  Crane,  I'm  afraid 
I  am  pressed  for  time.  I  understood  Mr.  Tucker  to 
say  over  the  'phone  that  you  wished  to  see  me  on 
business,  so  if 

Crane.  (Rising)  Certainly — of  course.  I  say, 
Lefferts,  would  you  and  Tucker  mind  finishing  your 
cigars  in  the  drawing-room?     (Crosses  up  to  door 

L.CJ 

Lefferts.     (Rising)    Of  course  not. 

Tucker.     (Rising)    With  pleasure,  Burton. 

Crane.  You  don't  mind?  You  and  Tucker  have 
so  much  in  common — kitchens  and  things.  Eh, 
Tuck  ?  (Going  to  door,  opening  it  and  standing  r.  of 
door.) 

Tucker.  Possibly — possibly — ^but  I  understand 
that  Mr.  Lefferts  specializes  in  closets.  (He  goes 
out  with  an  air  of  dignified  triumph.) 

Crane.  (To  Lefferts^  Sorry  to  bother  you,  but 
I  shan't  be  long. 

Lefferts.  Fairy  God-father,  you  may  be  just 
as  long  as  you  like.  Besides — I've  a  letter  to  read. 
(Produces  it.)  By  the  way,  you  said  five  thousand 
a  year,  didn't  you  ? 

Crane.    Yes,  didn't  you  understand  me? 

Lefferts.  Yes,  but  I  love  to  hear  you  say  it. 
(Lefferts  exits  door  L.c.j 

Crane.  (Waving  Weeks  to  chair  r.)  Please 
sit  down,  Mr.  Weeks.  (Closes  door  and  sits  in  his 
own  chair,  facing  audience.)  Mr.  Weeks,  I  shall 
leave  this  place  to-morrow. 

Weeks.     What? 

Crane.    I  have  decided  to  break  the  lease. 

Weeks.    Break  the  lease? 

Crane.    Exactly. 

Weeks.    On  what  grounds  ?    What  do  you  mean  ? 


ii8       COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Crane.  The  lease  stipulated  that  you  were  to 
provide  a  staff  of  competent  white  servants  and  you 
are  my  witness  that  to-night  I  have  nobody  left  but 
the  cook. 

Weeks.  Oh,  come  now.  We  only  agreed  to  pro- 
vide the  servants.  We  could  not  guarantee  that  you 
would  not  dismiss  them. 

Crane.  And  why  did  I  dismiss  them?  I'll  tell 
you — the  housemaid  for  calling  one  of  my  guests  an 
old  harridan — to  her  face,  mind  you — I  could  have 
overlooked  it  if  it  had  been  behind  her  back — ;  the 
boy  for  attempting  to  assault  another  guest,  and  the 
butler  for  re-introducing  this  same  violent  boy  into 
the  house  disguised  as  an  old  man.  I  really  ought 
to  have  them  all  arrested.     I  rather  think  I  will. 

Weeks.  Oh,  I  hope — I  hope  you  don't  mean  that, 
Mr.  Crane. 

Crane.  I  shouldn't  like  to  feel  I  had  allowed  a 
dangerous  gang  to  be  turned  loose  on  the  country- 
side. 

Weeks.  I  give  you  my  word  they  are  not  that. 
I  know  all  about  them. 

Crane.  None  the  less,  there  is  a  good  deal  to  be 
explained.  For  example,  how  comes  it  that  you  are 
— I  will  not  say  a  welcome — ^but  at  least  an  assured 
and  certainly  a  surreptitious,  visito;"  to  my  kitchen? 

Weeks.  (Rising,  much  embarrassed,  moves 
around  above  chair.)  I  do  not  feel  called  upon  to 
explain  my  conduct  to  anyone. 

Crane.    You  refuse  to  answer? 

Weeks.    I  do. 

Crane.     Upon  statutory  grounds? 

Weeks.    What  do  you  mean,  sir? 

Crane.  Upon  the  ground  that  to  answer  might 
tend  to  incriminate  or  degrade  you. 

Weeks.  (Angrily)  No,  sir!  Certainly  not,  sirl 
And  if  you  think  you  can 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN       119 

Crane.  Tut!  Tut!  Another  thing;  I  should 
like  to  ask  you  how  an  Irish  girl  like  Jane-Ellen 
can  be  a  full  sister  to  a  pair  of  more  or  less  Eng- 
lishmen like  Smithfield  and  Brindy? 

Weeks.     Nonsense ! 

Crane.    Yet  that's  the  case. 

Weeks.    Who  said  so? 

Crane.  (Quoting  Weeks  J  One  of  the  most  ad- 
mired and  respected  young  ladies  in  Virginia,  I  may 
say  in  the  entire  South. 

Weeks.    What's  her  name? 

Crane.  That,  my  dear  sir,  is  what  I  want  you  to 
tell  me.  (Rises.)  Well,  sir,  what  have  you  to  say  ? 
(Comes  round  back  of  table.) 

Weeks.     Nothing, 

Crane.  Do  you  deny  that  Brindlebury  and  Smith- 
field  and  Jane-Ellen  are  brothers  and  sister? 

Weeks.  I — I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with 
it. 

Crane.    You  don't  deny  it  ? 

Weeks.    No — ah — and  I  don't  affirm  it. 

Grane.    And  you  don't  explain  it  ? 

Weeks.    No.    (Crosses  to  l.  end  of  table.) 

Crane.     And   for  all  I  know,  Araminta  is — ^by 

Jove !  (Enter  Jane-Ellen  from  pantry.  Crane 

moves  r.c.   behind   table.)     Jane-Ellen (She 

stops  on  the  way  to  the  sideboard.)  Come  here, 
please.     Jane-Ellen,  is  Araminta  your  sister? 

Jane.  (Hesitates,  glances  at  Weeks,  then  back 
to  Crane. j  Well,  sor,  ye  see,  I  feel  as  if  she  was — 
we've  been  that  long  togither,  sor — an'  she  always 
so  swate  and  obligin'  to  me  an'  everythin'  the  like 
o'  that  an'  oh,  sor,  ye'll  be  excusin'  me  jist  the  half 
av  a  minute,  sor.  I  got  some  apples  bakin'  in  the 
shtove.     (She  bolts  from  the  room  into  the  pantry.) 

Crane.    (Looks  at  Weeks  a  moment,  then  comes 


120      COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

down  R.  of  table.)  There  are  four  Daingerfield 
children,  I  think  you  said? 

Weeks.    Yes,  four. 

Crane.    Two  boys  and  two  girls? 

Weeks.    Yes.     (A  pSLUse.) 

Crane.  Mr.  Weeks,  have  you  the  assurance  to 
stand  there  and  tell  me,  as  a  Southern  gentleman, 
that  you  think  I  have  been  treated  down  here  with 
all  the  consideration  I  deserve? 

Weeks.  I  think,  on  my  honor,  sir,  that  you  have 
been  treated  with  unparalleled  distinction,  sir. 

Crane.  Well,  I  have  lived  in  one  continuous 
three-day  riot,  if  that's  what  you  mean.  Have  you 
anything  else  to  say? 

Weeks.    No,  sir — nothing. 

Crane.  In  that  case,  I've  no  more  to  say  except 
— good  evening. 

Weeks.     Good  evening.     (Moving  up.) 

Crane.  (Moving  to  mantel  c.)  I  shall  break 
the  lease.  If  you  and  the  Daingerfields  feel  your- 
selves aggrieved,  you  have  my  permission  to  sue. 

Weeks.  But — but — my  dear  sir,  if — if  you  only 
knew 

Crane.  Perhaps — but  I  don't — and  you  won't 
tell  me. 

Weeks.  I — I — oh!  I  can't — I  can't,  and  that's 
the  truth! 

Crane.    Then  good  evening,  Mr.  Weeks. 

(Weeks  is  about  to  go,  but  returns.) 

Weeks.  (Up  to  Cranej  One  more  thing — ^it's 
about  you  and — ^and  Jane-Ellen — staying  here  all 
alone. 

Crane.  Oh,  yes,  you're  concerned  about  the 
cook's  reputation. 

Weeks.    Ye-es,  I — I  am,  sir. 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN      121 

Crane.  Really,  Mr.  Weeks,  don't  you  think  this 
is  carrying  Southern  chivalry  rather  far? 

Weeks.    No,  sir,  I  don't. 

Crane.  (Ringing  the  bell)  Very  well,  we'll  let 
let  the  cook  decide  for  herself.  If  she  likes  she  can 
go  and  stay  the  night  with  my  chauffeur's  wife. 

Weeks.     (Scandalised  at  this,  too)     Mr.  Crane! 

Crane.  Dear  me!  Mr.  Weeks,  you  seem  very 
hard  to  please. 

(Enter  Jane-Ellen  from  pantry.) 

Crane.  Jane-Ellen,  in  a  little  while  you  and  I 
are  to  be  the  only  persons  left  under  this  roof.  This 
idea  strikes  Mr.  Weeks  as  undesirable.  How  do 
you  feel  about  it? 

Jane.     Me,  sor? 

Crane.  Would  you  like  to  go  and  sleep  with 
my  chauffeur's  wife? 

Jane.  Faith,  sor,  an'  I  don't  think  I  would.  Sure, 
I'm  much  obliged  to  Misther  Weeks,  but  I'm  not 
afraid. 

Weeks.    But  think — ^think — what  will  people  say? 

Jane.  Faith,  Mr.  Weeks,  they'll  know  nothin'  at 
all  about  it,  av  you  was  to  hould  ye're  tongue.  (She 
goes  to  sideboard.) 

Crane.    You  see,  Mr.  Weeks.    Anything  else  ? 

Weeks.  (Almost  purple  with  indignation )  I — I^ 
shall  go  at  once  and  find  her  brothers.    (Going.) 

Crane.  (With  a  cry)  Ah !  Then  you  do  admit 
it! 

Weeks.    Admit  what? 

Crane.    That  they  are  her  brothers. 

Weeks.  (Shouting  a  mixture  of  rage  and  grief) 
No,  I  don't!  (With  this  he  rushes  from  the  room, 
closing  door  l.c.  after  him.  Pause.  Crane  goes 
down  L.) 


122       COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

Crane.    Please  sit  down,  Jane-Ellen. 

Jane.     Thank  ye,  sor,  but  I'd  rather  be  standin'. 

Crane.  Just  as  you  please.  I  shall  be  leaving 
right  after  breakfast. 

Jane.  What,  sor?  (Crane  moves  to  c.  in  front 
of  table.) 

Crane.  I  have  told  Mr.  Weeks  that  I've  decided 
to  break  the  lease. 

Jane.  Sure,  ye  could  get  more  servants  in  a  day 
or  two.  Misther  Weeks  was  goin'  to  do  that,  any- 
way.    An'  I'd  be  stayin'  on  till  ye  could 

Crane.  It  isn't  that — so  much,  Jane-Ellen.  The 
thing  has  not  turned  out  as  I  had — er — expected. 
My  guests  have  all  left  me — in  various  stages  of 
anger — and — well,  my  holiday's  spoiled.     I  shall  go. 

Jane.  Sure,  'twill  be  cruel  bad  news  for — for 
the  young  Daingerfields,  I'm  thinkin'. 

Crane.    I  daresay  they  won't  mind  my  going. 

Jane.  Ah,  «or,  'tis  worse  than  that — far  worse. 
They'd  never  have  been  rentin'  the  old  place  if  they 
hadn't  been  near  starvin'. 

Crane.  (Kneels  on  chair)  You're  very  much  at- 
tached to  them,  eh,  Jane-Ellen? 

Jane.     Ye  might  say  that,  sor. 

Crane.    Especially  to  the  old  Colonel,  eh  ? 

Jane.    Yes,  sir. 

Crane.  But  the  tall,  dark-eyed  Miss  Olivia,  you 
don't  care  much  for  her  ? 

Jane.  Well,  sor,  if  the  truth  was  known  she's 
got  her  points. 

Crane.  But  you  couldn't  stand  the  woman  any 
longer. 

Jane.    What's  that,  sor? 

Crane.  You  were  tired  of  seeing  her  around  the 
place.     Didn't  you  say  so? 

Jane.  Oh,  well,  faith  I  didn't  care  what  I  was 
sayin'  to  that  ould — to  that  Mrs.  Falkner,  beggin* 
your  pardon,  sor. 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN       123 

Crane,  Jane-Ellen,  something  was  said  at  dinner 
that  distressed  me  deeply. 

Jane.    Who  was  it  said  it? 

Crane.    You. 

Jane.     Me,  sor? 

Crane.  I  was  sorry  to  hear  that  you  believed  in 
Miss  Olivia's  triple  engagement. 

Jane.  What  is  it  to  you,  when  ye've  not  afther 
knowin*  her  at  all  ? 

Crane.    Oh,  yes,  I  know  her.    (A  pause.) 

Jane.  Sure  I'm  sorry  I  said  anything  about  a 
frie«d  av  yours,  sor.  I  was  supposin'  she  was  quite 
a  sht»anger  to  ye fShe  drops  her  eyes.) 

Crane.  (Pause)  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  really 
know  her.  At  times  she  seems  very  near,  as  near 
as  you  are  to  me — and,  again,  suddenly,  like  a  sprite, 
she  dances  far  away.  Why  does  she  do  that,  Jane- 
Ellen? 

Jane,    Belike,  sor,  belike  'tis  only  her  way. 

Crane.  I  was  afraid  that  perhaps  it  was  because 
she  didn't  trust  me.  Do  you  think  it  could  be  that? 
Jane- Ellen,  I  love  her.  (Kneels  in  chair  c.  toward 
her.  Catches  her  hand.  A  pause)  Will  you  tell 
her  when  you  see  her  ?    (Pause.) 

Jane.  You  must  take  a  poor  girl's  advice  an' 
don't  be  hasty.  Indade,  she's  a  good  bit  av  a  minx. 
(Pause.)    Are  ye  quite  sure,  now 

Crane.  Yes,  yes.  She's  the  most  adorable  crea- 
ture I  ever  saw.    And  if  she  will  not  love  me 

Jane.  (After  a  little  pause,  taking  half  a  step 
toward  him)  Faith,  your  honor,  an'  what  then — if 
she  will  not  love  you?    (Crane  drops  hand.) 

Crane.  Jane-Ellen,  were  you  ever  abroad  in  the 
early  morning  in  the  springtime — ^just  before  the 
sun  had  risen? 

Jane.    Faith,  then,  I  was. 

Crane.    Well,  then,  you  may  remember  that  the 


124      COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

trees,  the  flowers,  the  grass,  the  water,  the  sky — all 
the  earth — seemed  waiting,  hushed,  with  its  fingers 
on  its  lips — waiting — for  the  dawn.  All  my  life's 
been  like  that,  Jane-Ellen,  waiting,  watching,  for  the 
loveliest,  the  sweetest  thing  to  happen.  And  now — 
now  when  it's  so  near 

Jane.  (After  a  pause)  Sure.  'Tis  very  deep — 
an'  chilly — at  that  hour  o'  the  mornin'. 

Crane.  (In  despair  turns  down  l.  a  little.)  Ah, 
you're  making  fun  of  me ! 

Jane.  Not  me,  your  honor.  Faith,  'tis  not  me- 
silf  c'u'd  iver  be  that  bould. 

Crane.  Jane-Ellen,  in  a  little  while,  when  I  pass 
through  that  door,  it  may  be  for  the  last  time,  and 
though  I  may  never  see  her  unforgetable  face  or 
hear  her  blessed  voice  again,  all  that  I  am  and  hope 
for  is  hers.  And  though  her  heart  may  never  turn 
to  me  I  still  shall  bless  her  name  because  it  is  so 
wonderful  to  know  that  anything  so  lovely  as  herself 
can  be.  And  that's  my  last  message  to  her,  Jane- 
Ellen.  Do  you  think  you  can  remember  to  tell  her 
that? 

Jane.  Sure,  then,  I'll  try.  Only — only  she's  that 
conceited  there'll  be  no  livin'  wid  her  at  all,  at  all. 

Crane.  But  you  must  tell  her  just  the  same. 
You  will? 

Jane.     Faith,  then,  I  will. 

Crane.  Thank  you.  (He  puts  out  his  hand  for- 
mally. She  lets  him  take  her  hand.  Suddenly  he 
lifts  it  to  his  lips,  then  lowers  her  hand  and  turns 
to  go.)  And  now,  good-bye,  Jane-Ellen,  good-bye. 
(She  pulls  him  back  to  original  position.)  Jane- 
Ellen! 

Jane.  (With  a  little  curtsey)  Did  you  really 
like  me  cookin'? 

Crane.    Olivia!     (They  embrace.) 

CURTAIN 


n 

O 

2 

m 

o> 

o 

o 

c 

2 

-i 

m 

o 

-n 

(O 

-4 

m 

> 

-1 

?: 

"•• 

H 

o 

:l 

m 

z 

o 


ACT  I 


Tbre«  fram«d  pictures  (2  still  life,  1  portrait). 

One   bell   pull  fastening. 

One   tapestry  bell  pull,   brass  end  pieces. 

Two    brass    curtain    rods    (12    rings    on   each). 

Four    brackets,    supports    for    same. 

Two    pairs    of    grey    curtains. 

Large   Axminster   carpet    (fawn). 

Two    Axminster    rugs. 

One   Persian    rug    (brown). 

One  large   blue  and  white  vase. 

One   mahogany   bracket   clock. 

One  large  painted  satinwood  settee. 

Four   small   painted    satinwood   chairs. 

Two   arm   painted   satinwood   chairs. 

One   Chesterfield. 

One   round   painted   satinwood   table. 

Three  cushions    (2   tapestry,    1   black  satin). 

One    gilt    French    clock. 

One    Adam   brass  and   iron   fire  grate. 

One   painted   and    inlaid   satinwood   writing;  desk. 

Two    coffee    cups   and    saucers. 

Two    colTee    spoons. 

Blectro-plated    spirit    lamp. 

Small  silver  cigarette  box. 

Coffee. 

Matches. 

Cigars. 

Cigarettes. 

Lietter    (with  cheque). 

Letter    (reference). 

Two  small   ash   trays. 

One    French    footstool. 

One  circular  gilt  mirror  with  eagle. 

One   brass  fender. 

One    set    brass   fire-irons. 

One    embroidery   fire    screen. 

Two    blue    and    white    china    bowls. 

Two  blue  and   white  china  vases   (straight). 

Three   blue   and   white   ohlna  vases   with   lids   (1  not  TUre4}« 

Artificial    roses. 

Artificial    chrysanthemums. 

American    magazines. 

Miniature  in  oval  gilt  frame  on  table  Lb  C. 

Bag  of  golf  clubs  by  door. 

Attache  case. 

Strap. 

Books. 

Blotting   pad. 

Pen-tray. 

Ink   pot. 

Pens. 

Handbag  with  Initlala  O.  D. 

Duster. 

Motor  born    (Klaxon). 

Door    knocker. 

Small    round    salver. 

127 


o 

o 

2 

rn 

<A 

O 

0 

c 

z 

-J 

Bi 

o 

0 

-n 

CA 

-^ 

0 

2 

I 

m 

> 

0 

7; 

•4 

H 

N 

0 

I 

m 

z 

H 

o 

« 
o 

o 


ACT  n 


White    stone    sink,    with    plug    on    brass    chain    and    waste    pipe. 

Stand    for    sink. 

Draining:    board    with    hinged     trestle. 

Iron    pump    (secured    with    bolts). 

Board    paclting    for    pump    with    bolts    to    secure    to    flat. 

Shelf  with  attached   brackets    (pin   hinges   to   cupboard  backing). 

Six   bells   with    pendulums    on    board;    three    bells  wired,    clips   to 

attach    whole    to    flat. 
Oreen    blind    to    window,    clips    to   attach. 
Two    small    rush-seated    arm    chairs. 
Kitchen    table    covered    American    cloth. 
Dresser    with    shelves. 
Small   kitchen    table. 

Pot    rack   with    hooks,    clips    to   attach   to    flat. 
Kitchen   range. 

Towel    roller    and    supports.      Clip    to    attach    to    dOOT: 
Small    flour    barrel    on    dresser. 
Coal    scuttle. 
Ice    cream    freezer. 

Picture  in   frame    (Geo.    Washington). 
Two     roller     towels. 
Scrubbintj     brush. 
Dish    mop. 
Iron    caulvlron. 
Dustpan. 
Hand     brush. 
Two    brooms. 
Mop. 

Bannister    brush. 
Seven    tins    (provisions). 
Enamel    tray. 
Plates    to    break. 
Broken    plate. 
Six    dishcloths. 

Box   containing   boot-brush,    pair   of  boots. 
Two    Willow    pattern    dishes    on    dresser. 
Twelve   Willow    pattern   plates   on   dresser. 
Threa    .^ugs. 
One    enamel    mug. 
Two    large    bowls. 
Two   basins. 
Tin    of    baking   powder. 
Sieve. 

Packet   of   Quaker    oats. 
Ironing   board. 

Two    copper   saucepans    with   lids. 
Two    small    frying    pans    (copper). 
Two    large    frying    pans    (copper). 
Five    baking    pans. 
Grid    iron. 

Five   wooden    spoons. 
Kitchen     clock. 
Iron    holder. 
Pepper  pot. 


129 


180      COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 


Salt    Shaker. 

.Sugar    dredger. 

Kettle     (large    iron). 

.''lat    Iron. 

Potato    knife. 

Kitchen    knife. 

Kitchen   fork. 

Plate. 

Jam    pot. 

Stone    bottle. 

Nutmeg    grater. 

Three    white    cups. 

White     bowl. 

Blue    and    white    cup. 

Two    lace    collars. 

Chicken. 

Blue,    white    and    gilt    dish 

Two    enamel    bowis. 

Blue    and    white    Jug. 

Tin    bowl. 

Grease. 

Flour. 

Cornmeal. 

Doughnuts. 

Butter. 

Treacle. 

Sherry. 

Nutmeg. 

Parsley. 

Eggs. 

Milk. 

Handkerohlete. 

Letter. 

Cablegram. 


10 

(- 
u 
< 

z 
o 
vi 

hi 

o 

ttl 

z 

Ui 

o 


2; 

Ui 

r 
o 

u 

X 

a. 
O 


at 


ACTUi 


Oval  dining  table. 

Six  small  chairs. 

Persian    rug. 

Large    Sheraton    sideboard. 

Mahogany    serving    table. 

Mahogany    firescreen. 

Two  mahogany   knife   boxes,. 

Square   Turkey  carpet. 

Butter  tray   stand. 

Green   folding  screen. 

Oak    fender. 

Steel  flreirons  set  with  stand. 

Bell  pull  fixing. 

Printed   linen    bell    pull,    brass   ends. 

Bronze  and   marble  clock. 

Two    bronze    and    marble    ornaments. 

Half  round   mahogany   side   table  for   aetweec    wlnfi'^ 

Two  pairs  brackets  for  curtain   rode. 

Two  curtain  rods  and   rings   doubled  irom  A«t  Is 

Two  pairs  green  silk  brocade  curtains. 

Large  blue  and  white  vase. 

White   table    cloths. 

Table  napkins. 

Two   three  armed   candelabra. 

Carving   knife   and   fork. 

Dinner   bell. 

Set    of   six    dish    mats. 

Two   wine    decanters. 

Four   sherry   glasses. 

Four  large  wine  glasses. 

Small  plated  salver  doubled  from  A&t  i. 

Two   plated    forks. 

Seven  plated  table  spoons. 

One   plated    soup   ladle. 

Four  plated  tea   spoons. 

Four  plated   coffee   spoons. 

Four  large   knives. 

Four   small  knives. 

Blue   and    white    flower    bowl    doubled    from   A»t   ^ 

Artificial    roses. 

Plates,    bread    basket. 

Two    glass   salt    cellars. 

Two   plated   salt   spoons. 

Glass    and    plated    butter   dish. 

Plated  butter  knife. 

Glass   dish. 

Plated  pepper  pot. 

Glass  and   plated  salt  shaker. 

Wine  basket. 

Water    bottle. 

Four  glass  ice  plates. 

Plated  dish  with  lid. 

Plated   spoon. 

Small  oak  troy. 

Cigar  box. 

Silver  cigarette  box. 

Spirit  lamp  doubled  from  Aot  & 

1S8 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHElv!       i3S 


Pour  soup  plates. 

Five   meat   plates. 

Three  vegetable  dishes. 

One  meat  dish. 

Oak  butler's   tray. 

Cut   glass   bowl. 

Large   plated    tray. 

Four    coffee    cups    and    sa.ttSdM> 

(2  doubled  from  Act  1). 
Plated   sugar   basin. 
Plated   sugar    tonga. 
Plated   cream  jug. 
Almonds. 
Olives. 
Salt. 
Sherry. 
Port. 

Bottle  of  slarst. 
Coffee. 
Sugar. 
Soup. 
Butter. 
Bread. 
Cornbread. 
Chicken. 
Doughnuts. 
Vegetables. 
Ice  cream. 
Cigarettes. 
Cigars. 
MatcheS- 
Cablegram. 
Letter. 
Wig  and  vtrhielC; 


LIGUTLNG  PLOT 


ACT  I 


SCENE   1 

Footlights.     2   circuits  -white. 

1   circuit  dark  amber. 
No.  1  Border  Ligrbte.      2   circuits  dark  amber. 
Side  Ligrhts  B.  and  L.     Flood.      Frost  &  Straw. 
Strip   l,l«rlit3.      Outside    Door   C.      2    dark    amber   strip    lights. 
Outside   windows  L.      2   white  strip   lights. 

1  dark  amber  strip  light. 
Sta^e.     Outside   windows   L.      Bunch   lights.      Frost  and   Straw. 


SCENE    2 

Footllgrhts  and  No.  1  Border  Ligrhts  as  Scene  1. 

Side  lights  K.   and   I..      Flood.      Frost   and   dark   amber. 

Strip  Ligrlite.      Outside   door   C.      2   dark  amber   strip   lights. 

Outside   windows    L.      3    blue    strip    lights. 

Outside  windows.     Bunch   lights.      Frost   and   steel 

blue. 
Chandelier.     2  dark  amber  candle  fittings  alight. 


ACT  II 

FootUffhts.     2  circuits  white. 
1  circuit  amber. 
No.   1  Border  liights.     2  circuits  amber. 
Sidelights  H.  and  L.     Frost  and   straw.      Flood 
Sta«e.    Small  amber  strip  lights  In  door  up  R. 

2   amber   strip   lights   outside   window   and   door   R.   C 

2  bunch   lights.      Straw   and  frost  on   back  cloth. 

1  amber  strip   light   outside  door  down  L. 

1  orange-red    bulb    in    kitchen    stove. 

1  electric    beater    in    etove. 


ACT  III 

FootU«;hts.     2  circuits  white. 
1  circuit    amber. 
No.  1  Border  L.igbtB.     2  circuits  amber. 
Sidelights  R.  and  L.     Flood  frost   and   dark   ambeh 
Stage.    1  amber  strip  light   outside   door  K.   C. 

1  amber   strip    light   outside   door   L.    C. 

3  blue  strip   lights  outside  windows  L.. 

1  bunch    lights    outside    windows    L. 
Chandelier.      3    amber   bulbs. 
Table  lamps.      2   single   table  lamps  on   mantelpiece   C. 


134 


University  of  Caiifomia 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


A    000  126  556    o 


/AC 


n 

FRENCH'S 

Standard  Lib 

rary  Edition 

Includes  Plays  by 

iiarry 

Prcd  Ballard 

>ru  ^y  Howard 

Percy  MocKaye 

f>.  >;>,e  Kaufman 

Willard  Mack 

M^rle>  Qranvllle-Barker 

Jerome  K.  Jerome 

I  tie  Capoks 

Mark  Swan 

Phil  Dunnl.ii; 

Rachel  Crothers 

George  Abbott 

W.  W.  Jacobs 

Dorothy  Parker 

Ernest  Denny 

Ferenc  Molnar 

Kenyon  Nicholson 

Hatcher  Hugbts 

Edgar  Selwyn 

Avery  Hop  wood 

Laurence  Housman 

Ring  LarUner 

Israel  Zangwill 

Tom  Curbing 

Walter  Hackett 

Elmer  Rice 

A.  E.  ThOiTias 

Maxwell  Anderson 

Edna  Ferber 

The  Quinteros 

Justin  Huntley  McCarthy 

Lynn  Rlgg^ 

Frederick  Lonsdale 

Su5an  QIaspell 

Rex  Beach 

Rose  Franken 

Paul  Armstrong 

John  van  Drutea 

George  Kelly 

Benn  W.  Levy 

Booth  Tarklngton 

Martha  Stanley 

George  Ade 

John  Golden 

J.  C.  and  Elliott  Nugent 

Don  Marquis 

Barry  Conners 

Beulah  Marie  Dlx 

Etiith  Ellis 

Zona  Gale 

Hariid  Brighouse 

Alfred  Kreymborg 

Harxey  J.  O'Higglns 

P.  G.  Wodehouse 

Clare  Kummer 

Noel  Coward 

James  Forbes 

Ian  Hay 

William  C.  DeMllle 

J.  B.  Priestly 

Louis  N.  Parker 

Mary  Roberts  Rlnehart 

Lewis  Beach 

Ashley  Dukes 

Guy  Bolton 

George  M.  Cohaii 

Edward  E.  Rose 

Augustus  Thomas 

Marc  Connelly 

Winchell  Smith 

Lynn  Starling 

William  Gillette 

Josephine  Pre.-ston  Peabody 

Frank  Craven 

Catherine  Chisholm  Cushing 

Owen  Davis 

Clyde  Fitch 

Austin  Strong 

Earl  Derr  BlgKcrs 

A.  A.  Milne 

Thomas  Broadhurst 

Harriet  Ford 

Charles  Klein 

Paul  Green 

Bayard  Veiller 

James  Montgomery 

C.  Haddon  Chambers 

Edward  Childs  Carpenter 
Arthur  Richman 
George  Middleton 
Channlng  Pollock 
George  Kaufman 
Martin  Flavin 
Victor  Mapes 
Kate  Douglas  Wlggln 
Rol  Cooper  Megrue 
Jean  Webster 
George  Broadhurst 
Madeline  Lucette  Ryley 


Richard  Harding  Davis 
Robert  Housum 
Salisbury  Field 
Leo  Oietrichtstein 
Eden  PhiiJpotts 
Sir  Arthur  Conan  Do; 
Brnndon  Tynan 
Clayton  Hamilton 
Edward  Sheldon 
Edward  Paulton 
Ailelaide  Matthews 
William  Cary  Duncan 


Send  for  our  latest  complete  Catalogue 

SAMUEL    FRENCH 

Oldest  Play  Publisher  in  the  World 
25  West  45th  Street,  811  West  7th  Str 

New  York,  N.  Y.  Los  Angeles,  Ca. 


Universi 

South 

Libn 


STi 


